Last Night I Dreamt I Died Alone
by ProblematicHayes
Summary: In which Peter didn't take the memory serum, but still left Chicago for Milwaukee - this follows his inability to repair his damage - and eventually Tris' inability to cope with her fear. Together they might just be able to repair one another, or maybe they'll rip themselves apart in the process. [I don't own Divergent or the characters] [M for later chapters]
1. I'm Turning Into A Twisted Man

_"I'm a good friend and an excellent lover, I can fool myself just like no other person can, I'm turning into a twisted man,"_ \- Last Night I Dreamt, The Wombats

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There were days where he found himself believing that he was actually okay. That things were improving, that he was bettering himself and those around him. It was easy to slip into a routine, to work behind a desk and shut off everything but the most basic parts needed to function through an eight hour day. He smiled politely at co-workers, talked about pointless things like weather and the latest news in the ongoing war on the bias between the genetically pure and the genetically damaged. He pretended to easily swallow the prejudice, took their double sided compliments -"You're doing surprisingly well for a GD - we're impressed"- and he didn't even complain about how he was far better than those ranked above him solely for their genetics. He would go home, go to bed, and repeat this cycle. Rinse, wash, repeat. The trick was in finding a pattern to follow. These days were the ones that allowed him to hope that he was actually capable of change - sometimes even allowed him to feel almost grateful that, in the end, he'd had the strength to change his mind and not erase himself. He could honestly believe that maybe Four had been right all along, that he really had the courage and the strength to do this on his own merit, no short cuts. That things were finally looking up.

Then there were days like this one.

There were days where he stopped congratulating people for getting a better position than him, for stepping over his head even when he knew, he _knew_ that he was more capable than those GP sacks of shit. Days where he found himself cornering a co-worker in an alley after hours, someone who was typically easy to talk to and friendly. Someone with a family. He had his hands on that man's throat, staring into bulging, bloodshot eyes, and found that he still enjoyed the rush of pleasure that accompanied being the one in control of someone else's life. When the body in front of him collapsed and he finally felt the cold bite of rain against his face - that was when the ache for a reset settled in and made a home in his chest once more, reminding him of the truth. He knew this was long overdue - things had been good for a while but they'd run their course. There were always days like this, where he knew, plain and simple, that he could not and would not change the way he operated. It hurt to remember who he was beneath the layers he'd been building over the last few months. At least he could claim that he tried, right? That had to count for something. He took a moment to check and make sure the man he'd been throttling wasn't dead - after finding a pulse he walked away at a brisk pace, shaking out the tension in his hands. Choking was sore work for digits that had grown unused to such exercises. Moments like those were the ones that made him believe in the GD propaganda, even if only to have something to blame his actions on.

It turned out to be surprisingly easy to fit everything that made up who he was as an individual into a small suitcase. Almost funny, really, how he was able to erase any sign that he'd lived in the dank one bedroom apartment for nearly eight months in a matter of fifteen minutes. It only reminded him of the horrifying, nagging terror that always lingered, just out of sight, threatening to consume him any time he stopped to think about how truly small he was. How little he mattered in the scale of things. He packed his life away that night and caught a bus out of Milwaukee without so much as a glance back - he didn't even turn in his resignation. He knew that the next day people from his office would be gathering around a cake with a meager congratulatory message for the poor man he'd beaten in an alley. Maybe they'd do it at the hospital; they'd croon over his injuries and talk about how they knew that Hayes boy was no good from the start. How could he have been, after all he'd done to the infamous Tris Prior? Maybe they'd blame it on his genetics - something inside him knew for a fact that they would. He scoffed at the idea, which earned him a nasty look from the older man across the aisle from him. If he weren't so tired he might have attacked that guy, too. Instead he slept.

There were some days Peter found himself wishing, longing, for a world where the Stiff let him die - where the bullet met the back of his skull and he became just another casualty of war in the Amity compound. Would the kind hearted faction have buried him, spoken kind words about the stranger they allowed into their lives? He imagined that she would never have forgiven herself, had she let him die; it was just like her to make decisions for other people without their consent to spare her conscience. He didn't often sink into that sort of thinking, though, after all, the things he'd done and would continue to do were for his own survival, weren't they? Not just because of that sick sense of pleasure, of pride, of _power_ , that came from the fear he was capable of bringing out in a person? It was hard to draw a line when everything he did was so murky and distasteful - where did survival give way to sadism? Perseverance to cruelty? Time only served to sour him, his guilt festering like an untreated wound in his gut, growing and aching and threatening to consume him.

There were days like this, where he found himself on the precipice of _something_ , hovering over a thirty foot drop with his feet right on the edge of a building rooftop and he allowed himself to think it might be easier this way. He could close his eyes and pretend he's entering Dauntless like he did back before the war, but the factions are gone now, and there will be no one who would call this an act of bravery. He wouldn't be remembered in loud, drunken shouts for daring to venture into the Great Unknown. He'd just be a coward who inconvenienced the person, or people, that ended up with the job of scraping him off the pavement. GD's no doubt. In these moments Peter felt powerless - and it was unbearable. He stepped back, then, falling from the speed of his movements onto the rough cobblestones covering the roof until he was practically skittering from the lip he'd been standing on as though it were the maw of a great beast threatening to devour him. He didn't stop until his back pressed itself firmly against the door he'd come through earlier on impulse, unable to feel the little rocks digging into and cutting his palms. Panic quickly consumed him then, becoming his entire world. There were no tears, he still couldn't bring himself to cry, even now, but his chest was threatening to cave in and that was somehow worse.

After he faced himself on the roof and returned a coward, he took to drifting, picking up work where he could, stealing where he couldn't. He redeemed and diminished himself more times than he could count; helping a stranger, beating an acquaintance, smiling at a pretty girl, stealing from donation jars. When he could afford it he drank himself into oblivion, when he couldn't afford it, he fought - it helped to take the edge off. The jobs came and went quicker than he could even keep up with them. He turned self destruction into a work of art, painted in bruises and blood and betrayal. After running from Milwaukee he never managed to stay in one place for very long before the darkness he'd been told he could fix in himself would come bubbling up to the surface. Before his own nature ruined everything again and again and again. The cycle repeated until it was hard to tell one crime from the next - he'd hopped a train and expected to be able to jump at his leisure, but the conductor just kept upping the speed, so he was trapped in that car, his demons pressing in around him and breathing fire down his neck.

At some point the demons had to win out, didn't they?

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So this one is a little shorter than the rest will be, I promise to have more updated asap!

As always comments and likes are much appreciated - they let me know you like what you're seeing and want more, after all. Feel free to leave suggestions or requests!


	2. I'm A Stubborn Boy

" _I don't have time for any selfless deeds, what I do for you is indirectly for me - I'm a stubborn boy, there's nothing here that you can break or destroy,_ " - Last Night I Dreamt, The Wombats

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One day he finally saw her - entirely by chance. He hadn't intended to find his way back into Chicago at all, maybe for this very reason, but there weren't many places left to go. He was looking for work, for somewhere to live, damn it, he was _trying_. Nowhere else would have him - he'd burned all the bridges before they even finished forming. He'd long since lost his suitcase and hadn't had a new change of clothes in what felt like years, but was probably closer to a month. Losing your dignity had that effect. Time had slipped, but he was sure he'd been traveling and living in empty houses and alleyways for close to three months now, finally out of the Fringe and into the city again. Who counts time when you're slowly starving, anyway?

He'd finally scored an interview, though, and if he made it there tomorrow, if he got the job, he could finally get back on his feet again - and he needed to look the part to do that. He'd been working on washing an outfit he'd acquired for the interview, in a small bucket filled with ice cold water that numbed his fingers to the bone, when it happened. He'd gotten all the dirt removed from the rest of the suit, which was hanging behind him in the doorway of one of the ruined houses he currently called home, but the dress shirt was giving him trouble. He'd been struggling to remove blood from the collar - rubbing his fingers raw with the effort - but he wasn't making any headway. He shouldn't have broken the guy's nose in the process of stealing his clothes, Peter thought with irritation, not for the first time today.

"Fuck - just come _clean_ , damn it!" He was so absorbed in the task that he didn't hear her come up until it was too late to run - his head was ducked as he rested beside the bucket, one knee in the dirt and the other up for him to rest his tired forearm against. This was becoming too much effort. Maybe he could prowl around the bar tonight and find easier prey. He'd have to be more careful this time, ensure that his next donor didn't put up a fight like this guy had.

"..Peter?" He nearly jumped out of his skin, head jerking around to find the source of the voice - suddenly wary. He'd been in Chicago for a while now and hadn't told anyone his name - outside of writing it on applications - which meant that whoever this was, they knew him from before. Or maybe it was one of the assholes who watched them during the experiment. He was hunched over, broken and bruised and haggard; how could they recognize him? Rather than curiosity, he felt disdain - whoever this was, he wished they would just go away - but that voice sounded oddly familiar.

When he finally spotted the one who had spoken his name, he frowned. She didn't belong out here; her clothes were pristine, clean and pressed, she clearly hadn't been wearing the same shirt for the last few weeks like he had. She was entirely untouched by the filth that he called home, that people just like him wallowed in all over the city. Some time between hearing his name, and spotting the wide eyed blonde who should never have come back into his life, Peter dropped his shirt on the ground.

Once he got over the initial shock of seeing someone from his past, of seeing _her_ of all people, he looked down to find that his shirt was soaking up mud and dirt. Fuck. He cursed under his breath, knowing how long it had taken him to get it this clean in the first place - now he'd have to do it all over again. Mugging someone for a new outfit was starting to sound like a much better idea with every passing minute. Being seen like this by anyone - no, not just anyone, by her specifically - quickly brought heat crawling up his neck and face.

He squatted to retrieve the cloth, dunking it back in the bucket once again to work on the new patches of dirt, who knew if he'd find another well dressed patron before tomorrow? His luck would be that all the well dressed men went home to their wives instead of drinking their money away tonight. Great. Just peachy. It was easy to imagine she was deriving a lot of pleasure from seeing that he had fallen from his pedestal so gloriously into the dirt below. If the tables were turned he knew he would be grinning.

"Peter, is that you?" Apparently ignoring her didn't work. He struck out when her hand touched him, slapping her wrist hard - she quickly withdrew her touch and sat up a little straighter than before, more rigid. If he hurt her, it didn't show on her face, but he couldn't imagine that the strike felt good. Maybe he should have felt guilty for it, but he didn't. With a tremendous amount of willpower, he made himself look at her, and he immediately regretted it. The Stiff sat in a wheelchair, her hair had grown back out and rested past her shoulders - she looked smaller than she used to.

He ignored the ache in his chest and looked back to the dress shirt, a mess of brown and gray - it didn't look like he'd be able to salvage it. Fuck. "Are you going to talk to me at all..?" She sounded a little offended, and he had to laugh - a scratchy, foreign noise to his ears. In what world could anyone imagine her being upset that he wasn't talking to her? He could easily call on multiple scenarios where his silence would have pleased her more than anything in the world. She'd asked for it often back then, hadn't she?

"What do you want me to say?" He didn't mean to ask, but the words tumbled out regardless. He'd become desperate for human contact that didn't involve fighting one another for resources. That didn't involve beating innocent people for their clothes or money. His voice croaked, and felt like glass on the way out, scraping his throat. Another compulsory glance up filled him with the distinct feeling one has upon realizing they're the lesser person between two peers. That's what he'd become, he accepted with shame, he'd become the dirt under her boots - or, more aptly, wheels.

She smelled like soap, sterile, not like the whimsical scents that followed most women - unsurprisingly. Apparently she didn't like perfume. He chuckled quietly, this whole situation was just so fucking Abnegation of her. They didn't talk for a long moment, and he had to swallow down the urge to smack her away when her hand fell over his again. This whole time he'd been desperately scrubbing with throbbing, frozen fingers at the stains on his shirt - going through the motions without thinking about it. He immediately tensed and stopped moving, just staring down at her pale hand - there wasn't any grime beneath her nails or embedded in the cracks of her skin - she was pure. _Don't_ , he thought, _you'll get dirty._

"Peter, stop. Look at me."

And he did. There was still fire in her eyes, that unbreakable spirit was alive as ever inside of her; the one that wouldn't let anything he did stop her from surpassing him. He hated it then and he does now, too - it taunts his weakness, his cowardice. Part of him was practically drooling at the prospect of hurting her - she was alone, in a wheelchair, and it looked like she wasn't even armed. He wanted to assert his dominance, just like he always did where she was concerned. To show her he wasn't a coward, to feel the power of holding another person's life in his hands.

The darkest parts of him were itching to leap forward and attack her - and maybe she realized that because suddenly she gripped his wrist tightly, her mouth set in a frown. It was a warning of her strength. There could be no denying that she was damaged, she had been injured severely in the attack on the Bureau, but he got the impression that it wouldn't be as easy as he'd hoped to take her down just because of that. It would leave them both battered and bleeding - he would smear her with his filth and she would shatter him with her rage. He almost forgot that, beneath his rags, the muscles he worked so hard to build and perfect once upon a time had dwindled. That was another life, where he was powerful. Where he was once toned he was now wiry, lithe. He didn't have the strength that he used to. That notion was a bitter pill to swallow.

"What do you want, Stiff? An apology? Is that what you're here for - or did you just come to see me like this? Or-" He smirked, felt the smile pull at his sore, chapped lips - something nasty waking in him and rearing its ugly head, "Or are you just so fucking hard wired Abnegation that you can't _help_ but throw yourself into situations where you think someone needs your help? Does it get you off, finding kicked puppies?" Did he need it? Probably. Would he accept it? Absolutely not.

She flinched and removed her hand from him at the slur. Good. He neither wanted nor needed the pity in her eyes. They were harder now and any emotion he might have seen there was gone in a blink. Maybe he imagined it - maybe she didn't pity him after all. That's good, too. "I don't need your charity - so what the hell do you want? I can't imagine you're here to laugh." He added angrily, eyes downcast as he clenched the shirt in his fingers, hands well and truly numb now.

"I don't know." Her mouth is set in a hard line, he imagined that maybe she was going to roll away, back to her normal life, where his sins couldn't touch her. But no, he has never been lucky, there wasn't any reason to believe that would change now. Instead, she crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him sternly, like a disapproving superior would. The face she made reminded him vaguely of his mother, and that was a scary thought. He suddenly felt weak under her gaze - like she could look into him and see all the things he'd done since he left this place, laying him bare and exposed and raw for the world to see.

Did she know that what he did to her paled in comparison to his crimes now? He clenched his teeth hard enough to hurt, but didn't look away. Why did he come back here? What did he have to gain in Chicago that he couldn't manage in another city? He could have avoided this - but he knew exactly why he'd come back. He'd already be in jail or dead anywhere else - his crimes chased him back here. Rushed him into the arms of this very moment. If he believed in fate he'd think this was meant to happen, to punish him. Good thing he didn't. The triumph he felt at the pain in her eyes face was bittersweet.

"Let me take you to a shelter, Peter. You don't have to live out here like this," He laughed an ugly laugh and balled his hands into fists by his sides, his shirt left to sink down into the bucket, forgotten. He had nothing to give - he couldn't afford to owe anything to anyone. He was aware, suddenly, of how damp the ground had become from dunking the shirt angrily earlier, and he focused on the cold wetness seeping into the knee of his jeans, chilling the skin beneath. It grounded him - reminded him of their differences.

No.

"I already told you I don't need your charity - I can do this on my own. I don't intend to start owing you, or anyone else, any time soon. People who owe _you_ tend to get themselves into more trouble than good, if memory recalls," He hissed through his teeth and she stared at him with ice in her eyes. That struck a chord. She bit down on her cheek and looked away from him, and he allowed himself to think that they were done, that he could go back to working on getting himself an interview worthy outfit and she could go back to being better than him. He almost missed it when she spoke again, her voice soft and unsure, an unusual thing coming from the girl who was all hard edges and defiance in another life. But he did hear it, he heard every word, and they hit in him the chest, making him feel sick. Damn it.

"No, you're right, you don't. _I_ owe _you_." He flinched and looked at her again - who was this girl? Certainly not the same one from Dauntless initiation with no weakness to be found, that seemed to take his attacks and absorb them into new strengths. This was not the rebellious girl who took down the attack simulation and the Bureau of Genetic Warfare. This was someone new - someone broken. When he chose not to speak, so she did, her mouth puckering like the words tasted bad on the way out. He should have felt good about that, but it gave him no joy.

"You could have killed Tobias-" she seemed to struggle with the name, her voice trembling, "-during the mission to stop the memory wipe - you could have snuck up and..stabbed him, or outed him to Amar - to _David -_ any number of nasty things. You're good at that." The words stung him, but he didn't argue, she wasn't wrong. "Instead, you walked into a room of hostiles by his side - and you didn't even take what you supposedly followed him to the city for. Someone might think that you were actively trying to help us. They could even say, by not being what everyone expected you to be, that you saved our plan - our _city_."

There was a strange pain in being recognized for things he didn't intend to do. In her quiet undertone suggesting at a bravery he didn't posses. He wanted to kill Four - he really did. He'd planned to slit his pretty throat and take that vial, to walk away and never remember any of it..but he didn't. Instead he risked getting captured - and for what? To walk away empty handed? He was no hero. He was just a coward for different reasons than she was stating. He set his mouth into a thin line and thought it over. Her argument was weak, but the promise of a hot meal and fresh clothes was too much to pass up.

"Fine." The thought of being dropped off at a shelter like some kind of stray animal wasn't something he could agree to, though - he had other plans that still ended in him not having to fully swallow his pride. Plus, he could annoy her in the process. "If you owe me, buy me new clothes - I have an interview tomorrow and this-," He stopped, gesturing to the disastrous dress shirt that had started to soak up filthy water, "Isn't going to help me get that job. Buy me what I need to impress these people and you'll be doing more help by far than you would by taking me to a shelter. A possibly permanent solution instead of a temporary, easy one."

She looked like she might say no - like the idea of babysitting him wasn't worth being even with him. It wasn't like she lived her life in a constant state of checks and balances, making sure she wasn't indebted to any one person like he did. Her code of morals weren't streaked with depravity and selfishness like his were.

"Or is this whole Stiff persona of helping out those in need only skin deep? Are you doing this for me - or for your own guilty conscience?" He stood his ground, waiting for her answer with what he hoped was a casual smirk.

"Fine." Her tone was crisp as she mimicked him before pressing her hands to the wheels on either side of her chair to turn around - the roads in the old Factionless sector were still rough and collapsed in some places, but she seemed to be managing okay. It was impossible to ignore the strength in her arms that came from carting herself around like that. If she wanted, he imagined, she could do a lot of damage with those arms. It took until she was a few feet away for it to really sink in that she'd agreed; she glanced over her shoulder with an upraised brow and stopped rolling.

"Are you coming?" That snapped him back into reality, he didn't need to be beckoned by someone like her. Without hesitation, Peter abandoned the shirt with a stranger's blood on it and the bucket of suds, wiping his hands against the filthy jeans he'd worn holes in to rid them of as much water as possible.

His fingers pulsed with a dull ache, they'd probably started to bleed again, but he didn't check to find out. He watched her from a distance as she rolled up to the car parked on the closest driveable street, and raised his brows. There wasn't another soul around, not in the vehicle or nearby, which had to mean she'd driven there on her own. He waited like a predator stalking prey, wanting to see her at her weakest, drinking in the rare sight - it helped lessen his injured pride at this whole insane situation.

It was rare for her to be viewed as human, injured and weakened - he could count the times she'd fallen from grace and showed herself as anything but a hardened soldier on one hand. A memory of her, broken and defeated in the holding cell of the Erudite headquarters from what felt like a million years ago came to him, unbidden, and his stomach twisted into knots. If he concentrated hard enough he could still make out the soft sounds of her sobbing - of her begging for information. Of..

 _I could have forgiven you, you know._

She pushed her hands against the armrests of her chair and forced herself to stand; he'd have to be blind not to see that the movement hurt from the way her shoulders tensed and her body trembled as a result. He considered for a long moment letting her handle this on her own, after all, she had to be capable of it if she managed to get out of the car and into the chair in the first place. Maybe she would treat him trying to help her as some kind of an insult. He would, if the tables were turned. Then he imagined her owing him and smiled to himself - favors from her could help out further down the line.

He stepped forward as she leaned against the car with her palms pressed to it for leverage. From here he noticed that her legs seemed to be functional - why did that feel like a relief? - but the muscles were still weak from nerve damage - she was shaking with the effort of standing. He'd heard that she had been shot multiple times, but managed to survive long enough for help to come.

Anyone else probably would have died, but she was too stubborn to let even the death serum stop her - of course she wouldn't allow a few bullets finish the job. If she hadn't been in the Bureau, he reasoned, with some of the best doctors in the world, she probably wouldn't have survived regardless of her hardheadedness, though. She looked at him warily from her vulnerable position, her face red and her expression strained - it would be easy to attack her and take the vehicle, to leave her for dead, but he didn't make any move to strike. Maybe because that was what she was expecting him to do.

Instead, he opened the front door and offered her a steadying hand, all while thinking _you owe me, Stiff._ She thanked him begrudgingly, arguing weakly about being capable of doing this herself. The notion that that her knight in shining armor, not him, should be here doing this struck him like a hammer. Four should be the one holding her small hand, feeling how it fit neatly into his palm. How her skin was burning compared to his. Four should be there to check if her legs were in the vehicle properly, that she wasn't uncomfortable. Instead it was him. Peter closed the door for her and folded up her chair, trying not to smirk. _You owe me._ After tucking the surprisingly heavy contraption into the back seat, he had to try hard not to flinch at his reflection in the window - at the gaunt looking man with shaggy black hair and sunken eyes - how did she recognize him when he barely managed to? He looked away with a frown and eased himself into her passenger seat.

It wasn't until he was sealed in with her that he became fully aware of his stench. While it wasn't wholly unbearable, he didn't smell like sunshine and daisies, either. There was a definite reek of alcohol and sweat, of dirty floors and smoke and blood, but not a word escaped her mouth about it. The Stiff was too polite to insult him - if their roles were reversed he definitely would have taunted her. As she stretched her leg out to press the pedals her face turned white and her mouth screwed shut, he recognized the look of pain like an old friend. He'd caused it enough times in her to spot it. He chose to look out the window and ignore her rather than to ask if she might prefer him to take over. It wasn't hurting him, why should he care? As long as she could drive without them dying it wasn't his problem. So why did his negligence spark a burning shame in him?

For a while he disappeared in his head, trying to ignore the familiar sights of the city zooming past until he realized with a start that they'd been getting closer to the old Dauntless sector of Chicago for a while. He hadn't been here since leaving the city after the treaty was decided - it appeared that since that time the buildings that had been calmly evacuated near the ferris wheel had been renovated and turned into living spaces. Nice ones, too.

Regardless of the new splashes of paint, the streets of the city were still as shady and unpleasant as Milwaukee had been - maybe even more so because of the high population of GDs. He shook his head and scowled at the thought, annoyed by the title their home had been given - the only city that lived without the propaganda of Genetic Damage. They said it proudly but he just laughed at the ugly truth - there was no utopia to be found anywhere, saying you're not prejudiced against one thing just means you will be about another. He'd seen it - experienced it. Was currently living it.

Here the homeless were the ones that were punished, that weren't even given the jobs that the Factionless used to do, that shuffled hopelessly from hovel to hovel. Most of them were former faction members who couldn't, or wouldn't, adapt to the new way of life, some were from the Fringe, others were like himself - wanderers from all over. Some died where they slept. They weren't taken care of properly, not given the same opportunities as others if they lose their jobs - sometimes they were even removed in groups from the city to live in the Fringe, so that the districts they were covering in filth could be renovated for more tenants that would actually contribute to society.

And sure, there were clinics, but most of the time people who went there tended to not come back or be heard of again. It was a big reason he'd avoided the shelters and their promise of food and clothing - Peter wasn't looking to become someone's lab rat or sex slave. He frowned harder upon realizing that they'd gotten in closer to the apartment complexes and further away from shops. Was this some kind of trap?

"Where are you taking me..?" He asked, trying not to sound anxious - his tone was calm and neutral, but he was suddenly worried that her offer had been a lie. Of course it had been, people didn't just help one another for fun, especially not him. How could he believe that the ruthless girl from Dauntless would ever be concerned for him after what he'd done to her? He reasoned that maybe she'd come looking for him to get even. It's something he would have done. There was no way, he realized too late, that she had just stumbled across him by accident. Maybe he deserved this.

He finally made himself look at her, but all she offered him was a shrug - it looked like she was fighting with herself about something. Great. They fell into a terse silence while he waited anxiously to hear her admit that Four and Christina and god knew who else were waiting wherever she was taking him, ready to attack, to help get revenge. He swallowed hard and wondered how badly it would hurt if he opened the door and rolled out. They were still going too fast for that to be a feasible option - this was a car, close to the ground, not a train. He'd rather be beaten and punished than die - and maybe they would kill him, but if he jumped from here he would die for sure. He wasn't necessarily afraid, just wary.

"I'm not taking you shopping looking like that, Peter. You're a mess - no offense.." She finally answered him with a heavy sigh, glancing over in his direction. There were no signs of dishonesty in her features, maybe she was telling the truth. Maybe he was wrong in assuming everyone was as terrible as he was, maybe not. She'd never been very good at lying, that much he was certain of. "The shops won't let you in the door without a shower, let alone allow you to try on clothes. So just suck it up, alright?"

Fuck.

It took all of ten seconds for him to recover from his fear and put two and two together. This meant they'd be even again - helping her earlier would be counterbalanced by her letting him shower at her apartment, or at least he assumed that was where they were going. That soured his mood a bit. It didn't take long at all before she pulled up to one of the tallest buildings - it looked relatively new, or at least newly renovated - and put the vehicle in park right out front. He considered not helping her with her wheelchair, watching her struggle would improve his mood, but he needed to be even with her more than he needed a laugh. She was giving him back a piece of his dignity, so he could suck it up and do the same.

She didn't complain when he set the chair out for her, but she made no move to get out - instead she sat there leaning back with her arms crossed. It occurred to him that she might not be any better at having people owe her than he is. That would be a new development. After another few moments of pouting, she finally took the keys and pocketed them, grabbing at a handle that seemed to have been specifically installed to help her pull herself out of the vehicle and into the chair. The upper body strength required to lift all of her like that shocked him, especially with how easily she made it look effortless. She had never been that strong in Dauntless; this was a different kind of power altogether, one that came from struggling through loss after loss. From not giving up. He chose not to compliment her, but he didn't insult her, either, and that had to count for something, didn't it?

She didn't ask, or allow, him to push her up the ramp, and he didn't offer. He watched her with a strange fascination as she pushed both herself and the weight of the chair up the incline, her knuckles white with effort. He chose not to notice, or not to point out, the way her chest and shoulders were rising and falling rapidly with each breath as they moved into the elevator.

Here goes nothing.

* * *

Whew okay. So that's a lot to shove out at once, but now we've got an injured Tris and our leading star the brat butting heads. Should be fun.

And I know two years is a pretty long time for someone to be recovering from wounds, but nerve damage is a fickle bitch.


	3. Emotions Can Be Misleading

"Someone once said I don't have any feelings, well I think emotions can be misleading, and thinking back I might have nailed the coffin shut with that," - Last Night I Dreamt, The Wombats

* * *

Fifty floors and a lot of silence later left them entering a dimly lit corridor with four doors in total, each with a gold plaited number on them. Hers was 197. He considered flat out asking for the truth, why she was really doing this - it didn't take a genius to know she hadn't been tossing and turning and losing sleep over owing him for saving Four's life. If that were the case she would have found him sooner. He lost that train of thought upon walking into her apartment, though. The main room was surprisingly devoid of..well, anything, really. It was minimalism at best, with sparse furniture and a few pieces of art that looked suspiciously like designs from the tattoo parlor Tori had worked at - he'd recognize some of the flash art on ex-Dauntless in a heartbeat. He had the sneaking suspicion that, if he were to look closely, her signature would be tacked on to some of them. There were no signs that anyone other than the Stiff lived here, no shoes other than her own by the door, no jackets - the only picture of anyone being the one he vaguely recalled her receiving when they'd first come to the Bureau, of her mother and the group of scientists that had been working on the Chicago experiment. It reminded him of the apartments he'd lived in over time, minus the artwork, she could likely pack her life her down into a single suitcase like he'd done if she needed to.

Odd.

"I'll go grab you a change of clothes - like it or not, those are going straight in the trash," She was the one to break the silence with a laugh, rolling up to the far wall where she parked her wheelchair and swapped out for a set of crutches instead. It didn't seem to hurt her as badly this time when she got up. For the first time since she rolled back into his life, he was able to see her fully standing - she was still powerful, muscled, though her legs were smaller than they were the last time he saw her almost two years ago. The night she was shot. He nodded and chose to stand awkwardly on the tile that separated the entryway from the rest of her apartment. He took a moment to examine her living space, noting that the walls were black, along with the carpet in a lighter shade, even the furniture. Anything not black was at least a dark shade of brown or gray - which only amplified the dull lighting and made him feel like he was back in the cavern they'd called home during initiation. Add some candles, he mused, and it could be described as romantic.

It wasn't hard to put two and two together - there was more at work here than a natural love for Dauntless black - this place was the absolute opposite of the Erudite headquarters where he'd personally escorted her to her execution. The only thing that brought in light, besides her irritatingly dim fixtures, was a large window that took up the entire expanse of the wall opposite to her kitchen, which offered a breathtaking view of the recovering bay. Given the decor, he could have walked around and the darkness of her belongings would hide his filth, rather than spread it, but this place seemed almost obsessively clean. He didn't want to be the one to taint it. He didn't want to leave any mark of his life on hers. His attention snapped to the present at the sound of her hobbling back in the room with a faded looking black t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans. He walked over cautiously to take them, noticing a barely concealed sadness in her expression. She was pointedly not looking at the clothes - it almost seemed like she was leaning away from them, as though they were unpleasant to touch.

Very odd.

A cursory investigation of her bathroom confirmed his suspicions. He found a few disposable razors and prescriptions - some he recognized, others he didn't - within her medicine cabinet, some in tubes and others in bottles but all with her name on them. Her shower had one set of shampoo and conditioner and one small bar of unscented soap. There was nothing to be found that even hinted at anyone but her using this room, nothing even remotely masculine - or feminine. It wasn't exactly hard to surmise that she lived alone. That only raised more questions, though. Why was she living alone - and more importantly, why, if that were the case, would she trust to bring him here? Four would never allow him to be under the same roof as his girlfriend alone, and she would never disobey him, would she? He was sure something must have happened between the two of them - it was the only logical answer for her being out on her own in her condition. Either that or they were fighting and this was her proving a point - that would be something she would do. He took another look around, frowning. Everything in the bathroom was black, brown or grey, just like her lounge and kitchen.

Curiosity sated, he finally stripped out of his clothes, balling them up before throwing them away - shoes and all. He had no emotional attachment to the rags and felt no remorse at leaving them in the bin. Before he could move to turn on the shower, though, a wave of dizziness washed over him, and Peter buckled. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a decent meal, but it was catching up to him, his palms wound up splayed on her sink for support while he waited for the spell to pass. The counter looked even darker compared to his pale skin, it almost reflected his image back, but not quite. The quicks of his fingers were specked with dry blood, but surprisingly clean thanks to being submerged in water all morning. In this light he could pick out ever torn bit of skin, every tear, and wondered if they would ever be whole or smooth again. His eyes darted away from his fingers, discomfort tingling in his stomach. Staring at the chips of rock that captured light was strangely comforting - seeing himself in the mirror upon lifting his head, however, was the exact opposite.

He stared into his reflection and scowled - his skin was dirty and bruised, littered with scars and freckles and signs of malnourishment. His hair had grown longer than ever, falling in matted clumps down past his ears and nearly into his eyes. He could just see a hint of stubble dusted across his cheeks and chin and a thin, wispy mustache over his upper lip; maybe for the first time in his life he felt grateful for not being able to grow real facial hair. Thanks to his genetics he wasn't stuck looking like most of the Faction- _homeless_ , he corrected himself, like the _homeless_ men with the large, bushy beards and squinty eyes. He could still be handsome with some work. Peter tore his eyes away from the mirror, not interested in subjecting himself to any more of this punishment and, despite the lingering dizziness, he managed to turn the water on, fingers trembling. At the feel of warmth radiating from the water a smile tugged at the corners of his lips, uninvited. It had been far too long since he'd had access to a hot shower. Maybe, he decided, handouts weren't so bad sometimes - he could always do something to make her owe him again after all was said and done.

The positivity thrumming in his veins was unfamiliar - he hadn't felt this kind of hope for a long while, it couldn't even be soured by the knowledge that it was the Stiff's kindness that allowed him to feel this way. For the blissful time he spent standing under the steaming spray of her shower head, watching the stench of sweat and starvation rush down his body and into the drain, he allowed himself to enjoy feeling whole again. It was a pleasantly strange thing to experience warmth, real warmth, all the way down to the bone, after months of surviving the chill that Chicago seemed to constantly harbor. Moments like this allowed for him to hope that maybe things would start looking up. He could even start to think that, maybe, his choice to decline the memory serum was a good thing again, in the long run.

Just as his guilt began to roll from his shoulders and his mood began to improve, his thoughts jumped to the awful things he'd done. Memories of his fingers around her pale throat, of nearly _killing_ her and, as a result, causing the death of Al rushed to the surface without his permission. Not that he cared about that big idiot, but it didn't feel necessarily _good_ to accept that if he hadn't done those things someone would have been Factionless instead of dead. Like Edward had been. The water started to cool while his stomach churned with anger and guilt - Peter Hayes could not, _would_ not, feel bad for his past. He repaid her for his misdeeds, put his initiation days behind him. He had overcome that darkness, traded it in for other sins. So why did it feel like his insides were trying to burrow their way out of him?

He shut the water off with a heavy sigh, and dried himself as gingerly as possible, his scrapes and bruises never ending, perpetually tender to the touch. The underwear and jeans she picked for him turned out to be just a little too big, but he managed to keep them up. They hung from his hips in an almost intentional way that, were it not for his obvious malnourishment, might have been considered attractive. He tossed the shirt over his shoulder and walked out of the bathroom, still toweling his hair dry. The air outside of the bathroom was vastly colder, making him shiver, but he kept walking forward with his hands buried in the fluffy towel on his head. .

Everything felt more pleasant, more tolerable, even the ache in his muscles had all but disappeared for now thanks to the hot water. The grin on his face was easygoing. He stepped back into the living room to see the Stiff sitting on her couch, curled up with her nose in a book. She must have heard him open the door because her body tensed marginally and it looked like she intended to raise her head but couldn't quite be pulled away from the pages. The book she held was massive - definitely not a novel, maybe a textbook. In that moment she looked more like her brother than he could ever recall and it drew a smirk to his face - would she hit him if he told her that? He had absolutely no clue what their relationship was like after the Bureau - the last he'd heard Caleb was supposed to have died, but she took his place - but he could assume it wasn't perfect. Hell hath no fury like Beatrice Prior scorned, after all.

"Does everything fit -" He didn't intend for it, but a smirk tugged at his lips as the color crawled up her neck and to her cheeks when she finally looked at him - her eyes dropping from his face to the rest of him. If he didn't know better he might have accused her of staring at his chest, his torso, even his hips. But he knew better - she was probably taking in the cuts and bruises, not him. His body wasn't fit to be an object of desire - disgust, sure, but not desire. Something told him she still didn't handle nudity well. Good. Let her squirm and be uncomfortable, maybe then she'd be at a disadvantage and he wouldn't feel quite so weak compared to her. Wait. Where did that come from? He did _not_ feel weak - not compared to someone who was basically a cripple. No - maybe he was poor and homeless and had lost a lot of dignity, but..no, he was not weak. A scowl replaced his smirk in an instant, but she had already looked away, ducking back down with her face in the book to avoid seeing him.

"Is there something wrong with the shirt I picked?" The words tumbled from her lips speedily, nervously, and her voice was a few octaves higher than usual. Pride welled in his chest, growing and expanding and allowing him to ignore the anger that flared there alongside it. He did that to her. That was more than just seeing his wounds - maybe he did still have what it took to be desirable. Interesting.

"Nothing, just figured you might like the show. Looks like you haven't had a guy around in a while, but I forgot, you Stiffs can't handle all this - you get turned on when someone's collar is unbuttoned too far, right? Once a prude, always a prude, I guess." He probed, examining the effect his words had on her. His taunting didn't feel as good as it used to - maybe he was finally growing up, that was a disappointing notion. She sat upright almost immediately, ramrod, before slamming her book closed and refusing to look at him. Apparently that was a sore spot - he'd always been good at finding those. He finished drying his hair and walked backwards a few feet, still looking her way until he had to throw the used towel in her hamper. With that done he headed towards the couch, finally pulling the shirt over his head. Unsurprisingly, the cloth hung from him in an unflattering way - if it were grey he'd have fit right in with the Abnegation. "Alright, alright, little miss abstinence," He teased, hands resting on his hips, "I'm decent now." It took a few more seconds before she looked over her shoulder at him and he nearly choked at her expression - it looked like she might be on the verge of tears. Shit. In all his time pushing her, of all the cruel things he'd done, he'd never broken her with words.

He'd never made her cry. At least, not where he could see it happen.

Damn it.

"Fuck I-.." the apology was hard to press out, he looked off to the side while rubbing his earlobe with an air of discomfort, avoiding her raw emotion as she had his bare chest. He didn't want to see the welling tears threatening to spill onto her cheeks. His eyes settled on a patch of Dauntless flames in a silver frame to his right as he swallowed hard, trying again, "I'm..sorry, that was uh..out of line?" She scoffed and the sound was wet, it almost sounded like she'd already given up. He tore his eyes from the drawing to find she'd been staring at him, those damned grey-blue eyes narrowed, her mouth set in a frown. "Just..are we..gonna go do the clothes thing? The sooner we do that the sooner you can be rid of me." She didn't respond, considering him for a long moment before deflating, her shoulders drooping slightly.

"Yeah. We're getting you a haircut, too."

Fuck.

How was he ever going to even the playing field?

She found him some shoes that, like everything else, were just on the side of too big, but he didn't complain. Earlier she had been filled with determination and seriousness, now she just seemed to be going through the motions without actually existing. He convinced her to let him drive, using the excuse that he had missed the feeling - it had nothing to do with the pained look on her face as she prepared to enter the vehicle again. Clearly that didn't matter to him - not one bit. She surprised him once more by having him pull into a small diner that hadn't been there when they were going through initiation - he couldn't argue with her about it, he needed the food, so he swallowed his irritation. It was going to take a lot of work to pay her back, with every favor she was pulling ahead of him, further and further - the sinking feeling of being indebted to her was itching at his skin.

After a solid five minutes of silence while they waited on their meals to come out from the kitchen, Peter cleared his throat. She jumped, as though she'd forgotten he was even there - maybe she had, it wouldn't surprise him at all. Ever since he'd brought up the apparent lack of male influence in her life, she seemed to have been out of it. He tried to feel guilty, but mostly he just had a burning curiosity. At some point after sitting down, the Stiff had folded her arms on the table and tucked her chin down onto them. Her eyes were downcast as she traced a line of condensation along her glass of water, pointedly not looking at him. He opened his mouth to speak, desperate to talk about something, _anything_. It wasn't exactly often he got the chance to talk to someone who wasn't half dead or trying to kill him these days. She beat him to it, though.

"You're right," She mumbled. Two words had never been more surprising or dizzying that he could recall, that could have meant any number of things, where she was concerned. His brain was set to overdrive as he tried to make sense of her - when had she ever openly admitted that he was right about something? Come to think of it - how often was he actually correct about something that involved her?

"I'm sorry..what?"

"I said," She finally snapped her eyes up to his face, her mouth hidden behind her arms, and repeated herself slowly. "That you're right, Peter." Her tone was flat and it was glaringly obvious that she took no pleasure from saying those words, but she'd done it and they hung in the air between them. They couldn't be taken back. It was second nature to reply with a witty retort and a cocky grin.

"Well I mean, I usually am, but would you mind filling me in on which thing I'm correct about today?" There was a distinctive, sinking feeling in his chest saying he wouldn't enjoy his victory here.

"I'm..a prude." Those were not the words he expected to hear. Her face and ears were pink - hell even her forehead had a slight tint of red - he laughed without really meaning to, but how could he not? Of all the things she could've mentioned, this was what they were going to talk about? Her sex life - or lack thereof? He rested his elbows on the table, cupping his chin with his fingers splayed over his lips to contain the laughter, but that didn't stop his shoulders from shaking - they were starting to get nasty looks. From this angle he couldn't tell if she was giving him that look, too, but her fingers were buried in her hair and she began shaking her head from side to side, so that couldn't mean anything good. Slowly she sat up, her hands dragging down her face before she covered her mouth with one hand and sighed. "This was a stupid idea. Forget it." She threw her hand up dismissively and pressed it to her forehead, hiding from him. His laughter died in his chest and, without really thinking about it, he reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulling it away from her face. This, he realized with trepidation, was a serious conversation. This was why she'd been so quiet; he could at least hear her out. Something in the back of his mind was whispering a silent question - asking him why he gave a damn, but he ignored it for once.

"I'm..I won't laugh - keep talking. I promise to put a pause on my dickishness," How could he promise that? It was half the reason he ever wanted that stupid serum in the first place and now she was genuinely trying to confide in him - in Peter of all people. Had she forgotten what he'd done to her? He doubted that very seriously, but maybe..and the realization stung like she'd punched him in the face - maybe someone else had done something worse, something bad enough that his misdeeds weren't worth holding on to anymore. She looked at him for a long moment, his fingers still wrapped around her wrist, before she dropped her arm and nodded with a resigned sort of sigh. He released her and sat back a few inches, motioning for her to continue. For the sake of curiosity he could at least try to keep up his end of the deal.

"I.." The last time her voice sounded like this he'd formulated a plan that nearly got him killed - one that let him repay the debt of her saving his life. When she was stripped of her sanity and he had to watch it happen day after day. He shook himself and frowned, focusing on what was happening in front of him - now wasn't the time to visit old demons. Rather than looking at him, she fixated her attention on picking at a frayed area in the tablecloth, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. He considered telling her to get on with it already, but resisted the urge - he'd promised to try. This was going to be more difficult than he first imagined. "It's not that I don't.." Her face was growing more red by the moment and he covered his mouth with his hand again so she can't see him smile, his knuckle pressed to his nose firmly. It filled his senses with the smell of her soap. "I..want to, you know, do those things.." Her eyes finally darted up to his face, wide and full of apprehension and frustration - rimmed with sadness. It made his heart ache - something he hadn't entirely been sure was even possible until now. "I can't - I can't face my fears anymore, Peter. I'm a coward," Her lip began wobbling and he sucked in a sharp breath.

The woman in front of him was many things - stubborn, quick to judge, harsh, frustrating - but not a coward. Never a coward.

"Are you an idiot?" She flinched at his words, her sadness edging into anger - but he didn't give her time to snap at him. Just because he'd been a piece of shit his entire life didn't mean he could sit and watch someone tear themselves apart like this. There wasn't any pleasure to be had in that. She was better than this - he didn't stop to think about the fact that he wanted to comfort her, or what that meant for their strange relationship with one another, just let the words ooze from his lips naturally. "If you're a coward, I'm fucking _princess_ , Tris," The name floats between them - the syllables felt awkward on his tongue, but he found that he didn't hate it. Him calling her by her name seemed to have surprised her as much as it had him - she was just staring at him, mouth slightly open. "You don't see a tiara on my head, do you?" He finally snapped, his voice gruff - he was going to ignore that he'd complimented her, that he'd addressed her like a peer. The corners of her mouth pulled up into a smile - he wasn't going to live that down any time soon. Peter chose not to notice the way her smile made him feel at ease - that his heart was doing some idiotic fluttering that he absolutely did not condone.

"..Thank you,"

What the hell was she doing to him?

They spent more time talking over the meal than he could recall them ever communicating in their whole lives of knowing one another. It was hard not to describe the whole situation as nice, so he didn't label it as anything. She paid for their food and he bit down the frustration growing inside of him - he needed to figure out how to pay her back. Something told him he'd have to actually get that job to ever dream of digging his way out of the mountain of debt. The longer he was around the Stiff-..around _Tris_ , the less he minded the annoying feeling of owing her. There was a quiet, desperate part of him that wanted to keep the tables uneven, that wanted an excuse to keep coming around after today. That was crazy. He opted to pretend that thought hadn't occurred and focused instead on the less pleasant step in their journey. Shopping. He curled his lip when they stepped into a brightly lit store just on the side of what had once been Erudite, turning up his nose at how clean and prim the building was. These were the types of establishments that he was accustomed to getting kicked out of.

Now he was welcomed warmly - well, Tris was, and by default, he was, too.

Shopping with her turned out to be fairly simple, very no-nonsense. It started with standing in the back of the store on a small raised circle while an impeccably dressed man with glasses and a close cropped head of hair scrutinized him, getting his measurements. His skin prickled at each touch, wanting nothing more than to jump on this pious idiot who had more money on his body, in the fabric hanging from his limbs, than Peter had managed to hold on to in the last six months. Instead his eyes sought out Tris, who was sitting on a bench close by with a bemused expression. He was standing with his arms raised and his legs spread - vulnerable and, if the glances he got occasionally from the mirrors behind him were any judge, absolutely fucking ridiculous. When the man -Clarence, he recalled the name vaguely- moved the measuring tape between his thighs Tris let out a rather undignified snort at the face he made. He could feel the blood rushing to his face and shot her a dirty look.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up Prior. You're losing points for enjoying this."

"You're keeping score, then?" She asked with an upraised brow and another laugh. That noise made him feel warm - which was absolutely ridiculous. Surely it was the bright lights glaring down at him. It wasn't her.

"Always."

Not soon enough for his liking, Clarence rose up and finished typing up numbers on a tablet pressed against his wrist, not looking at them as he pushed a few buttons. Peter took the opportunity to jump down from the circle and clenched his fists by his sides, moving to sit next to Tris without hesitation. The blonde man clicked his tongue and swiped the screen of his tablet a few times, tilting his head at different angles now and then as he looked from the glass surface to Peter and back again. Just as he considered snapping, the man sat his tablet down on the counter that held his tape measurer, and clasped his hands together. He looked entirely too pleased with himself. Damn it.

"Looks like we've got a lot of variety available that would suit your measurements, Mr. Hayes," His eyes drifted between them and his smile widened marginally, "Would you like to discuss pricing options or try on a few outfits first?"

"We'll try some out, first."

Tris didn't let him choose - not that he could have anyway, it wasn't like he was spending his hard earned money on this. That would require actually having hard earned money. Fighting the urge to complain, Peter waited impatiently for the torture to start. He longed for the days where the clothes were judged by color, when he didn't need to pick impressive outfits just to be considered for a position. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a gentle elbow pressing to his side, glancing over at the blonde next to him who was positively vibrating with amusement. How dare she? He groaned inwardly. The look on her face could only be described as smug.

"Be brave, Peter," she couldn't help but giggle.

Smart ass.

The changing and showing off process felt like it took hours - and he was a spoilsport for the majority of it. Occasionally he swaggered out and shot Tris looks that made her snort, and that felt nice, but then he'd catch himself having fun and come out with a somber expression the next time. He tried on sixteen different outfit options ranging from steel gray to blue -"absolutely not," they'd both agreed- to shades of green and black. Eventually Tris ended up buying him two black suits, a few plain dress shirts and a variety of socks, underwear, ties and pants. He even got two pairs of shoes so shiny he could see his reflection in them. It was extravagant - far too much - but he kept his mouth sealed.

This part of their agreement was supposed to be her paying him back for not being a piece of shit, right? He didn't need to worry about owing her - but he still felt a pang of guilt. Without his permission, rather than being finished with shopping, she ended up dragging him around to three different stores before all was said and done. Apparently Tris wasn't happy with their agreement until she knew he had clothes to lounge in rather than just things to work in. That was bordering on overstepping his repayment. He had to admit it felt nice to wear clothes that fit him though - Peter didn't say a word as he watched Tris throw away the clothes she'd lent him once he'd changed into a pair of comfortable shorts and a newer t-shirt that clung to his frame with more flattery. This was much better.

The haircut wasn't entirely pleasant, but she was polite enough not to laugh at him. He was pleased when the dark curls that had fallen almost into his eyes were comfortably curled around his ears and just at the line of his forehead. It was nice to look presentable again, he had to admit - they even gave him a shave, though he'd argued he could do that himself. The best part was looking at himself in a mirror and not hating what he saw there. After all was said and done, and they were driving back to her apartment, she had spent a few hundred dollars on him, which settled wrong on his stomach. He chose to ignore that feeling.

They hadn't really talked since the diner, not about anything real, but he'd found himself having more fun than he could remember ever having experienced. Even before the war. That was dangerous. As he pulled the vehicle in park out front of the towering building he turned to look at her, raising his brows at her in a silent question. Was this the part where she went back to her cozy, empty home and he found his way back into the poverty-stricken old Factionless sector? Something in him ached at the thought - surely he was just desperate not to go back to being exposed to the elements. She spoke first, not quite meeting his eyes.

"So..I was thinking, I mean..I've got a perfectly good couch and-..well, you'd need a ride to your interview tomorrow anyway and..I've put a lot of money into those clothes. I wouldn't want to see them stolen or ruined.." He was stunned. His lips curled into a smile without asking for his permission.

"Sure. I owe you dinner for the haircut, anyway - so let me cook you something, call it even?" That just left the meal she'd bought him, didn't it? That and the casual wear he hadn't asked for - that was more than their original deal and he couldn't overlook that..and then he'd have to pay her back for letting him stay in her apartment. Fuck this was getting ridiculous. She looked mildly disappointed and he wondered if she might have thought he wasn't counting anymore, but that just wasn't him. Her teeth clamped down on her lower lip as she glanced up at the apartment, then back to him with a sort of determination.

"Sounds good. Now get my damn chair out so we can get inside, it's getting cold."

He didn't even count helping her out of the car as a favor owed - it was just something he wanted to do. Another item of the evening that was shoved into the 'do not touch' box in the darkest part of his mind - he was opting ignorance for a terrifyingly large amount of things that happened around her today. Peter felt an irritating happiness growing in his chest when she didn't push him away for guiding her up the ramp, bags hanging from the armrests of her chair loosely. Alarm bells were ringing in his head, but he chose to ignore them, too; all the way up the elevator and into her blackened living space. He felt good, and for fuck's sake he was going to enjoy it. Present company be damned. After the chair was put away and she was comfortably resting on her couch again he rolled up his veritable sleeves and got to work on figuring out what the hell he could even cook. Silent prayers were sent up to his wonderful mother for teaching him how to work his way around a kitchen.

"You need help?" He'd been ducked down, looking through her refrigerator when her voice chimed from behind him. With a laugh he looked over his shoulder and cocked a brow.

"Repaying a favor means I do the work and you sit your overly charitable butt in that chair, reading about..let me guess, some kind of geeky history shit?"

"You're so typical! I'm..actually reading about biology and how it makes stupid brunettes named Peter act like total jackasses to inflate their own egos." Her smile beamed and her cheeks flared pink.

"Hardy har har - stop distracting me or I'll burn your food on purpose, Stiff," The slur felt almost endearing, rather than cruel like it was normally meant to be. She laughed and he joined in, feeling lighter than he had in years. For now he wasn't going to let that ugly thing that lived in his chest butt its head in and ruin this - last night he'd been curled up in a house overrun with homeless and spiders, freezing and starving and miserable. This was absolutely preferable and if he was in a good mood, well, that was all the better, wasn't it?

Maybe not wiping his memory had been the best thing he could have done after all.

* * *

Phew. I'm not entirely sure there's gonna be a lot more to this, probably gonna wrap it up in two or three more chapters. We'll see! Also have some surprisingly nice Peter to make up for him being a prick.


	4. From Now I'll Curb the Cynical Speaking

"Last night I dreamt I died alone, through all my talk of self-defeat, a fearful bomb ticks underneath, last night I dreamt I died, from now I'll curb the cynical speaking, it seems that dream has sent the biggest chill through me," - Last Night I Dreamt, The Wombats

* * *

"You're insane - no way was that nasty soda stuff anywhere near as good as the double chocolate muffins from Dauntless!" Tris cried over their meal, a hastily baked dish that involved noodles and chicken doused in alfredo sauce - it wasn't terrible. He'd paired it with wine and that seemed to be a good choice, the pair of them were thin and shared a terrible tolerance for alcohol.

"What's it with you women and _chocolate_? I mean you're all about it being sexy and delicious and like, I dunno, the cure for world fucking peace. I'll take a lemon soda any day." He cackled, watching the way her face naturally reddened even at the word 'sexy'. Interesting.

"Ugh. You're so weird, did you know?" She mumbled, four cups into the second bottle he'd opened. He'd honestly been surprised to find that she even had alcohol in her house - she had admitted to buying a few bottles out of curiosity, but never found a reason to open them- so he'd popped the first one and they'd toasted to repaying debts. He finished his plate and leaned back, tipping the glass of strong red liquid up until its contents were emptied completely.

"I actually did. You're weird, too, though. What kind of eighteen year old sits inside and reads textbooks about anatomy instead of going out with her friends?" He cocked his brow, looking at her seriously - or as seriously as he could manage with the fuzzy feeling that made his lips tingle, anyway. She seemed to sober a bit and stared at her plate. Whoops. This girl had become a minefield of sensitive topics in their time apart. Or maybe she'd always been that way - he wouldn't have known, they didn't talk often before.

"I..I don't really-it's..hard to go out with my legs," That felt like an excuse and he crossed his arms with what he hoped was a disapproving I-can-see-right-through-those-lies-you're-telling expression.

"You can't lie to me - Candor, remember?" She flinched and he smiled, trying to soften the blow of him calling her out. Tris chose to push around the last bits of noodle on her plate rather than look at him. The silence was drawn out and he felt a little guilty for pushing her - this wasn't what he'd intended. They were enjoying themselves and he'd gone and fucked it up. Great.

"I don't..I mean, I don't really..have anyone to hang out with," He was almost positive his eyebrows were well past his hairline. No one? That had to be a lie - she'd always made friends easily. He had to think hard, checking off the list in his head as he went. Will - dead; Uriah - dead; Marlene - dead; Al - dead; Lynn - who fucking knew?; Christina - she hadn't talked about her yet, which he was suddenly finding odd - and Four was someone she was fervently not mentioning, either. He frowned and poured them both another glass. Instead of saying something snarky or sarcastic he just tilted his head and motioned for her to continue. The blonde took a long gulp of her wine before she started talking again. "I..I told you, I couldn't-..I _can't_ face my fear." Suddenly their conversation at the diner felt more important than he'd originally given it credit for. Was it more than just dealing with his insults? Shit.

"I mean - you don't just..bounce back from watching everyone you love die little by little - you don't just suddenly _recover_ from being betrayed and lied to and..and fucking _ignored_. The world doesn't just shift to clear skies. It doesn't.." She flinched and covered her face with her hands, taking in a deep, shaky breath before starting again, "At first it was just..I couldn't handle the physical pain - from the gunshot wounds, you know? Everything was all messed up from my stomach down. So..we just..waited. Then it was..I don't know, the pain was still there but it wasn't unbearable - it wasn't unmanageable. I just, when it came down to it..I couldn't do it." Peter was beginning to see where this was going and it filled him with apprehension..and rage. "He said he'd wait - however long it took - he would _wait_ , that I was _worth waiting for_ ," Her voice was wet with unshed tears; Peter felt a burning in his chest. He wanted to punch someone, something, to channel his rage. That son of a bitch. Instead he listened, reaching across the table to put a hand over hers without intending to. It just seemed appropriate. Apparently touching her was second nature for him, now. That spelled danger. She choked on her words and buried her face in her shoulder for a moment, hunched in on herself, and he assumed she was trying to calm down. Why had he asked about this? Why had he pushed?

"But one day I guess..he got better and I didn't. He was solid and whole and I was this mess, I still am. I couldn't - _can't-_ move forward - I've accepted death twice, Peter, do you know what that does to a person? And he.." The tears fell, then. He couldn't remember ever being as angry as he was in that moment. His feet moved without his permission, the legs of the chair scraping across the floor as he rounded her small kitchen table and dropped to a knee, his arms encircling her small frame. It wasn't often that he could describe her as small, not in the sense of weakness, but this was one of those times. She let out a choked sob and buried her face in his shoulder, her fingers gripping the front of his shirt like a lifeline. "I..I guess she..she was f-fixed and I wasn't and-and.." The noises that came from her made his world shatter, the warbling sobs and hysterical breaths made him squeeze her tighter, his fingers threatening to leave bruises. His lips grazed over her hair, it tickled the freshly shaved skin. "I loved them both and they-they fucking left me, they're supp-pposed to b-be my..my best friends," She whimpered into his collar and he felt himself breaking. "Chris-tina..and Tob..Tobias, they, they..-"

"Stop. Don't..don't do this to yourself." He finally leaned back and cupped her chin, his mouth set in a hard line. "Don't talk like this was your fault, don't you dare." If someone had told him even a few hours ago he'd be running the pad of his thumb under her eyes, catching the tears and staring into her stormy eyes, that he'd be shushing her, crooning her, _holding_ her - he'd have laughed at them. She pulled away from his hand to tuck her face against his neck - her lips brushed the skin there and he shivered. His collar was soaked with her tears and his senses were full of her smell - he instinctively rubbed circles on her back and made soft noises in her ear. "God damn it, I'm so sorry, Tris.." he whispered - she was having difficulty breathing, each intake hitched and her body shook with the effort of it. She wasn't talking anymore, just making desperate wailing noises into the cloth of his shirt. The words spilled without his permission. "You're too good for this, you're..fuck. You're just..I'm such a piece of shit for how I treated you and I am never going to stop being sorry.." He felt her wrench away from him and was worried she was angry. The look on her face was incredulous and his breath was gone - even with her lashes soaked and clinging together from the tears, with her eyes bloodshot and leaking and her nose bright red..it was impossible to deny the truth.

She was beautiful.

They sat for a while, just looking at one another, her choking back sobs as she tried to calm herself and him holding her hip now that she was leaned back, drawing the same comforting circles there. He could still feel the warmth from her face on his neck. Her teeth latched themselves into the soft flesh over her lower lip in a weak attempt to stop it from trembling and he was struck by how strong the woman in front of him was, even at her weakest point, she was coursing with power. He nervously reached up and placed his palms on either side of her face, his thumbs stretching to wipe at the tears - she wasn't crying any longer but her cheeks were soaked, he didn't mean for this to happen - and he was struck by the contrast of her soft, red skin and his scarred, tattered fingers. It almost made him pull away - until her smaller hands rested over top of one of his, one on the back and the other resting against the part of his palm not touching her face, cradling it. She leaned her head into his hand and closed her eyes with another soft sob.

"I can't keep going, Peter..I'm trying, but I can't do it. I don't..What's the point?" She swallowed hard and opened her eyes - the look there was enough to make him sick. He recognized it easily, it was a feeling he'd experienced before - alongside vertigo upon looking down from the top of a roof in a city he didn't know the name of, weighing the value of his own life. He moved one hand away from her face and pressed it to the back of her neck, his fingers resting just behind her ear.

"Listen to me - carefully. You can. You _will_. Fuck, Tris, you're..you're so goddamn strong - you're not going to let those fuckers win." Where were these words coming from? Where did this compassion crawl out of? He'd never cared before, when he tried to shatter her, when he'd tried to kill her for being better than him. When did he suddenly decide to give a shit about whether she lived or died? His chest hurt from looking at her like this, fighting with himself. It was impossible not to blur the lines between his perfect categorization of tallied points, of an eye for an eye, and the burning, bubbling feelings that threatened to blow him away. What had she done to him?

Something changed in her eyes and she managed to smile at him, it wasn't very convincing, but it was something. Tris sniffled and nodded, letting out a choked sort of laugh. That seemed to be as good of an indication as any that she was okay enough for him to release her. When his grip on her neck loosened and he started to pull away, he saw her expression shift - she looked determined, now. Quick as lightning she gripped the front of his shirt once more, her fingers twisting in the material, and pulled him forward. Peter nearly lost his balance, surprised at the force she put behind it, and worried that she might stretch and ruin his brand new shirt. Just because they'd shared a few tender moments of kindness didn't mean he would forgive her for ruining his nice things - he didn't exactly have many of them to be protective over.

However, he wasn't given a lot of time to stew over his concerns before he saw her face looming closer to his. She hesitated for a breath of a moment, allowing him to experience the charge of electricity in that small gap of space - his breath caught in his throat as a tingle rolled down his spine - and then he was weakened. Her soft, bitten lips were crashing into his and the world ceased to exist, to matter. Her mouth tasted like wine and tears, but it was the best flavor he'd ever known. For the first time in his life, Peter didn't care about checks and balances, he didn't care about who was the one in power and what he needed to do to get the upper hand - he didn't worry about what he'd done - his thoughts were the smell of soap and the feel of her tears smearing across his cheeks, of her bony knuckles digging into his collarbone. He gripped the back of her neck again and kissed her back with more desperation than he thought himself capable of feeling. His entire existence was rewritten, comprised of the small blonde in the chair in front of him and her damning lips. With one kiss she had undone all he was and left him shredded and raw, kneeling in her kitchen floor, worshipping all that she was and would be.

Their teeth clashed and their lips moved roughly - there was no tenderness to be found between them - it was exactly what he might have expected a first kiss to be from the hurricane in his arms. He bit her lower lip, just a little harder than necessary, and rejoiced when her mouth opened - his head was reeling and all he could think was _more_. The moment his tongue found hers, a moan was captured within their kiss - whether it was his or hers, he wasn't entirely certain - and he frantically moved his hand - one buried itself within her hair and the other cupped the side of her face. She surprised him by suckling at his tongue, which filled him with fire and need and an unbearable ache - one he hadn't felt in months. The sweet, agonizing pressure of his new shorts threatened to destroy him as they devoured one another with nothing more than kisses.

Finally, Peter had to pull away, to resurface for air - but his lips set to work almost immediately, leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses along her jaw and down to the base of her neck. He drew his teeth out and bit her, then rolled his tongue along the raw spots to ease the sharp pain. Her intakes of breath were enough to tell him he was doing something right. It was almost good enough, listening to her mewl, for him to ignore the niggling voice in his head that repeated her words like a mantra. _I can't face my fear._ Suddenly the taste of her was torture on his lips and he stopped, which elicited a whimper from Tris - one of her arms had looked itself around his back and the other hand was on his shoulder - her fingers dug in as she tried to pull him closer. _I can't face my fear._ He ripped away from Tris as though burned, which seemed to startle her - she stared up at him and the image was enough to shatter him. Her eyes were half lidded and glassy, her lips red and parted - she was breathing heavily and her hands hung uselessly at her sides as though she was unsure what to do with herself. He felt himself agreeing wholeheartedly, every fiber of his being was screaming for him to grab her up and crash her mouth into his, to discover every hidden scar and inch of flesh - but her words were a constant reminder. _I'm a prude._

"Peter?" She sounded wounded.

"I won't.." He breathed out, surprised at the way his voice shook, his lips were tingling with the memory of her kiss, "I won't be the one..to push you - you're..you wouldn't..do this if you weren't drinking," He started talking too fast - he knew he was panicked, afraid, if he ruined everything he'd have nowhere to go but the streets again. What would happen if he didn't secure that job and she hated him? He'd have no one, nothing, be back where she found him with his fingers numb and raw. He'd be beating strangers for survival. No. "Tris this is-God! This is so..we _just_ established that you-!" His hands flew up, gesturing wildly before resting atop his head where he pulled at his hair, pacing now. She kissed him, he had to remind himself, she initiated it - but he was the one that left red marks down her flesh and was thinking of all the ways he could make her squeal. His eyes were incapable of reaching hers - he stained her, just like he had been afraid of doing since she showed up in his life out of nowhere this morning. Damn it.

"Peter.." She whimpered, biting her lower lip - she didn't look like she was about to cry now, he noticed - and rising to her feet. Somehow, no matter how many times he watched her, he would always be surprised at her strength. Despite her crutches not being within reach, despite the pain that flashed over her face, she stood on her own two legs and forced herself to walk forward, flinching with each step. His insides twisted and churned in an agonizing pull - he was doing this to her. He could help her. Instead he stayed put and watched her walk, counting the steps and silently praising her, unable to bring himself to say the words on his mind. One. _You're so much better than I am._ Two. _You're powerful._ Three. _You're stubborn._ Four _. You're unbreakable._ Five. _You're-beautiful._ And then her hands were resting on his shoulders, her entire body was trembling and she was paler than before, but she was there in front of him and she'd done it on her own. He hadn't forced her to be right here, looking into his eyes with that fucking expression that somehow managed to take all the walls he built and smash them to pieces.

She left him raw and bleeding and he loved her for it.

"Tris..come on let's..you should sit down, I-"

" _No_ , Peter." He was stunned at the ferocity in her tone, going silent. "No. I'm so tired of being weak, of being afraid and a burden - I'm sick to death of letting my weakness own me." He was breathless, speechless - what could he say to that kind of bravery? "Please.. _please_ , help me - I..y-you owe me," She choked on a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob and his insides turned to slush, hardened to ice - he was burning and freezing and it was all her fault. "Just..help me be strong again." He swallowed hard at that and considered her for a long moment - considered himself and his system of carefully placed rules - of his entire life lived by favors and payment, and recoiled at the misery that lay in wait for him.

"I'm..sick of owing people - I'm sick of people doing things solely because they _owe_ me - you said..people can do things for one another, do it because they..because they _love_ you." The words that tumbled past his lips surprised him - he wanted to take them back, but she was smiling and there were tears in her eyes and if he were being honest with himself he was pretty pleased with the response. "I don't..know that I necessarily love you, Stiff, but..don't think I'm doing this because I feel like I owe you," His voice was a whisper and he felt spread too thin, it was scary to shed his way of life like that - to just drop his guard and let her get a good look at the weak version of himself that lived behind it all. His hands drifted up to cradle her head, his thumb trailing the line of her lips and he was struck by the way she looked at him, by the fact that he was standing here, not Four. Him. The grin that pulled at his lips was possibly the first in his life that was tinged with actual joy rather than sarcasm.

"I think..that's the kind of garbage delusional Stiffs say, if I'm not mistaken." She mumbled with a soft laugh, she'd stopped trembling but he couldn't imagine it felt very good to be standing. The words take him back to the joy and fear he felt, carrying her down brightly lit corridors as they rushed away from their deaths. He couldn't have imagined then, let alone this morning, that he'd end up standing in her kitchen with the taste of her on his lips, cradling her tenderly like this - that his face would be aching from the smile that refused to be wiped away. He was surprised to find he wouldn't trade anything to be somewhere else - to be with anyone else. That was something he'd have to deal with in due time. Tris looked away from him after a long moment, he could just see her tongue pressing against the inside of her cheek, and laughed quietly. He raised his brows, waiting to hear whatever it was that was suddenly so funny.

"..Hey, Peter?"

Please keep saying my name.

"Yes?" Her big blue-grey eyes found his and bared down into his soul with a mix of emotions.

"I forgive you."

If he never heard another word in his life, that would be okay - hearing those three made years of anxiety melt from his shoulders. If he were a weaker man, he might have cried with relief, but he wasn't. Regardless of the softness of the moment he was still not the kind of person that allowed themselves to come to tears. Instead he leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead, suddenly aware that he was shaking nearly as much as she was. Somehow standing together turned into her arms around his torso and his around her shoulders - to them squeezing one another too tightly. The embrace was full of rough knuckles pressed too harshly into backs and the smell of wine and soap. She buried her face in his neck and his nose rested in the messy bun on her head - then her knees buckled and he just barely managed to loop his arms beneath hers to hold her upright - and a yelp escaped her lips. He grunted from the effort of lifting her, but it wasn't any harder than moving a punching bag. He'd moved plenty of unconscious bodies that weighed more than this.

"Thank you, fuck, Tris that means more than you know - now, let me take care of you, okay?" She nodded into his shoulder and he easily scooped her up into his arms, chuckling under his breath with more emotion than he'd originally intended. "This feels familiar," He snorted, not considering that the memories he'd been pulling on for some of the only marginally positive interaction they'd ever had might not have been as pleasant for her - if he shuddered at the thought of watching her slowly accept death with open arms and lose her mind he could only imagine what it was like to actually experience it. She chuckled into his shoulder, but it was a sad noise, one full of memories best left alone. Was she remembering the torture - or Four? That soured him momentarily.

"Try not to hit my head on the doorway.." She almost whispered, clinging close to him and adding -even quieter than before - her tone just a little more playful, "Don't say I never took you anywhere nice," Peter wouldn't have stopped the bark of laughter from escaping his lips even if he wanted to. He carefully shouldered her weight so that he could reach from beneath her knees to open her bedroom door, shaking his head all the while. He was very careful not to hit her head, letting it rest comfortably against his chest as he twisted and side stepped into the room.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Stiff," He hummed, earning a soft punch to the chest. He gently eased her into a sitting position, her legs hanging over the edge of the bed. Any arousal had given way to something softer - more emotional than physical - and it scared the hell out of him. He walked around her room, taking it all in - she had a large bed with more pillows than any one person could ever need, plush and velvet, just like the blankets. Her floor was the same soft black carpet from the den and her dressers were made from a deeply stained wood. There were no mirrors. There were no pictures. Just books and pens, pieces of paper with scribbled notes, her Erudite was definitely showing. "Do you..need me to get you something to change into..?" Her laugh was musical in his ears, followed by the sound of cloth rustling, and he turned back to see that she'd crawled beneath the covers - her shoulders were bare now. Interesting.

"No, I..I think I'm alright.." Her mouth was a distraction, with her tongue darting out to wet her lips slowly, but he managed to tear his gaze from them and look her in the eye. To stare into the heart of the storm that had been brewing all night. She smiled at him sheepishly, patting the bed next to her before tearing her eyes away and turning a stunning shade of pink. "I'm not..I can't..do that, not right now - but..would you stay with me tonight?" Part of him flinched at the prospect - of the tenderness that was required of him. He couldn't just turn into the tender person she was expecting him to be like that, but the fact that he wanted to was a good sign that he was capable of it, right? He took a deep breath, nodded, and nervously tugged the new t-shirt over his head, emboldened by the soft intake of breath that came from her direction. For a moment his senses were filled with the smell of a department warehouse, which only made the smell of her that much more of a contrast once the cloth was gone.

"Yeah, I don't..see why not. Beats sleeping on the couch."

Just cuddling sounded a lot more difficult, now that he thought about it. He learned quickly that there was no dignified, cool way to kick out of his shorts and felt his face heat up at her giggles when he nearly tripped over himself, but after a few minutes of struggling his clothes were folded on her dresser and he was down to the soft black boxers she'd so kindly bought for him. For a moment he felt ashamed of himself - he had more scars than ever and his bones poked out under his skin in places that used to be hardened by muscle - but when his eyes found hers, saw the look in them, he was given the impression that she didn't mind in the least. His stomach felt like he'd swallowed a handful of butterflies - which was something he had no idea how to deal with, so he opted to ignore it - and he walked slowly, nervously to the bed. Rather than climb in he rested his hands on the covers, peering at his battered and worn fingers and at the clean, probably fairly new material beneath them. _You'll get it dirty. You'll ruin it. You'll ruin_ her.

"I..m-maybe I should..-" Her hands found his, fingers lacing through the empty spaces and filling him with warmth, "D-don't..you'll.." Y _ou'll get dirty._ He started, choking on the words - there wasn't any dirt to rub off on her, but it was deeper than that. Peter found it difficult to look at anything but their fingers - he saw that hers were scarred, rough from initiation and the harsh battles they'd fought since that point, and it comforted him a little. She was touched by destruction, too. He could bet she had fresh scars on her body, if he were allowed to look. Rather than repulsion, he felt a stirring of arousal at the prospect and swallowed hard. Cuddling was going to be very, very difficult if he kept this up.

"I'm damaged, too, Peter. Don't treat me like I'm made of glass..please. Get in bed."

So he took a deep breath.

Counted to three.

And crawled beneath the covers.

The world didn't end - she didn't shatter, he didn't ruin anything - they kept breathing and he was fine. He just wrapped his arms around her bare waist and felt her curl into him; allowed himself to be absorbed into her and closed his eyes, trying to slow the rapid breaths ripping through him. Panic was a familiar foe, but the warmth of her skin and the smell of her soap was doing wonders. Normally Peter had a hard time sleeping with others in a room - something that had come from the fear of being attacked..like he'd done to Edward - but it was almost impossible to keep his eyes open once her head was nestled under his chin and her arm was draped over his stomach, and so, for the first time in a long time, he gave in. He conceded. And he slept easier than he could remember having done since leaving Candor, what felt like a lifetime ago. For the first time in recent memory he was happy.

The memory serum didn't taunt his dreams that night.

* * *

I had so much fun writing this chapter, seriously. I like the idea that some of Peter's few redeeming memories are the ones in which he saved Tris, so I wanted that to have a part to play in his reasoning for throwing his philosophy to the wind in this. He's not going to make any miraculous recoveries into pure kindness, but it's a start. Not sure how many more chapters this will have, but I can't imagine it'll be many more.


	5. A Train of Worry Runs Through My Head

Enjoy the update! Thank you for all the reviews and favorites - it's really sweet and encouraging and you guys are seriously great.

 _"Then as I count sheep in my bed, a train of worry pulls us through my head," - Last Night I Dreamt, The Wombats_

* * *

For the first time in nearly three months, Peter woke to the security of knowing his life wasn't immediately in danger - and to the soft cushion of a real, honest to goodness bed beneath his body. He stretched his arms over his head and groaned, enjoying the pleasant feeling of his joints popping back into place. A glance down gave him a look at Tris in possibly the most peaceful state he'd ever seen her in, which pulled a smile to his features easier than he'd have liked to admit. This was a problem he needed to address. His heart didn't melt at the sight of another person, he didn't feel a wash of _giddiness_ at the experience of waking up coiled around someone, especially not _her_. So what was all this about? She'd poisoned him, chiseled away at his shell until all that was left was the soft flesh within, and he wasn't entirely sure he would recognize the parts of him that were seeing sunlight for the first time since..maybe childhood. Maybe ever.

In typical Peter fashion, rather than deal with the problem at hand, he brushed it aside for later consideration. Tris was sleeping with one arm over his stomach, the other curled up between them, and had made use of his chest as a pillow. He slowly brushed a long strand of golden hair behind her ear - which immediately caused her to stir. In moments her eyes were wide - she stared at him with a wave of confusion and concern - but then her expression softened and she closed them tight, her cheeks tinged a light shade of pink. She'd slept without a shirt, but had kept her bra on, and he noticed that, when her bare legs brushed against him, he could just feel a soft material on her thighs that told him she had on some form of shorts. He mused that, at the very least, she wasn't going to be entirely exposed - parts of him were disappointed by that fact - and sat up when she lifted her head away from him.

"Sleep well?" He hummed in a tone that was just on the side of smug - earning himself a roll of her eyes as she pulled the blankets up around her until all he could see were her shoulders and the thin black straps of material that clung to them. Cute. His senses were filled with her scent - it was more than just soap now, and he breathed in deeply. There was a small part of him that was already coming to terms with this being a one time thing - with her realizing she was making some kind of grave mistake in trusting him - and so he wanted to enjoy the most of it.

That same part was the one that couldn't look away from her lips, couldn't help but feel a swell of pride in knowing what they tasted like, couldn't help but want to kiss her again. He licked his own hesitantly and managed to look her in the eye again, finding that her expression had changed since he'd last looked there, and it made him swallow hard. Her face was flushed, eyes nervous and half lidded, and her lips were now parted just slightly - Peter was struck with the memory of that same look on her last night. When she'd asked him to push her limits, to help her overcome her fear of intimacy. His heart pounded in his ears.

"Are you hungry..?" She asked quietly, her voice breathier than could be justified as being from just waking up. He considered leaning forward, closing the gap between them, and testing the waters - but he had a job interview to think about. He nodded and forced himself to slide out of bed, noting with an air of pleasure that she seemed marginally disappointed at his absence, and let his toes curl in the soft carpet below the bed.

"Starving. Want me to cook?"

"No, no, you just..get dressed, you made dinner - I can do breakfast." She nodded towards her bedroom door - the bags of his clothes were still sitting in her living room - and he got the impression that she wasn't going to get up and dress herself until he'd given her privacy. Damn. Peter took the hint and crossed the room in confident strides - though he turned before he got to the door and smirked upon finding her eyes glued to him - and winked at her, giving a mock salute before he exited the room entirely.

There was a war on inside of him, one half was screaming at his foolishness for wanting to explore this strange situation he'd found himself in with her while the other refused to accept that there wasn't some kind of ulterior motive behind it all for her. That she wasn't going to pop up and tell him to get out at any given moment, that his usefulness had run its course. He focused on the task of dressing himself and tried to tune out the frustrating inner monologue for the time being. It was easier to do when he thought about how soft her lips were last night, or how warm her body had been, pressed against his side.

Peter chose the plain black business suit that came with its very own gray tie and set to work on dressing, while doing all he could not to wrinkle the fabric. His pressed, white dress shirt was a total change from the filthy, ruined one he'd left in the bucket just yesterday. It was satisfying to feel the fresh, starchy material against his skin as he dressed, to know this belonged to him. He was struggling with the tie when Tris' bedroom door opened and she came out on crutches, wearing dark blue jeans and a baggy t-shirt. She looked beautiful. He glanced away and shook his head at the thought, glaring down at the irritating strip of cloth that refused to cooperate with him. It appeared that, even on crutches, the blonde was capable of sneaking up on him as her thin, pale fingers soon stopped his failed motions, and his ears were filled with the sound of her laughter. Not cruel or harsh, but a genuine sound of amusement - it forced a smile out of him easily.

"You're absolutely hopeless, did you know that?" Her tone was quiet, her fingers nimble, as she looped the cloth into a successful tie and tightened it to his throat - not enough to cause discomfort, but enough to be snug. She was smiling, and her teeth were latched onto her lower lip; without really intending to, he ducked his chin down and kissed her. When their lips met, a shiver tingled through him, all the way along his hairline and down the back of his scalp, touching every inch of him, and she returned it softly - nervously. Kissing her was different in the daylight, when they weren't comforting one another through grief and damage, it made him feel as though every nerve ending had been set to spark. It terrified him. He kissed her deeper, a hand pressing itself to her lower back so that she was crushed against his chest. His eyes were screwed tightly shut as he let himself breathe her in, taste her again, just in case.

Then their lips separated with a soft _pop_ , and they were left panting. He hesitated a moment before opening his eyes, their foreheads were pressed together and laughter came bubbling up from their stomachs. He watched as her pink tongue darted out, dampening her lips, and felt the itching urge to capture it with his own, but he didn't. He pulled back enough to look at her, which was a mistake, it set his heart to pounding and his mouth dried out. Her eyes were electric and eager - they begged him to reach in and find the darkest parts of her - but he had an interview to worry about. She seemed to remember herself, then, and pressed her lips together in a thin line as her brows knitted together in an almost apologetic way - that twisted his gut.

"I uh..I'll whip you up something to eat - then we'll head off?"

"..I-..sure, that's..yeah." How eloquent of him. He desperately hoped he recovered from this spell of brain damage before he went in to try and impress his way into a working position. Rather than worry about that, Peter went to work, pulling on his socks and the stiff, ridiculously shiny shoes. The man who stared back at him from the black surface as he tied his laces wasn't someone he recoiled from - he felt good about his appearance. A quick trip to the bathroom to comb down his hair and brush his teeth left him feeling like he might actually have some kind of shot at this - like he wouldn't be laughed back onto the street.

The smell of food had his stomach rumbling and he headed back to the kitchen to find a plate of toast and scrambled eggs - Abnegation food - and made himself smile at her. The eggs were definitely not his favorite thing, they hadn't been something he'd eaten growing up like she had, but after weeks of canned and out of date food they tasted like heaven. He was careful not to get crumbs all over himself, chasing it all down with the glass of orange juice she offered him, ravenous despite his anxiety.

The weather was clear out, he was thankful for that. Rain would ruin the nicely pieced together ensemble that Tris' hard earned money had outfitted him in. He didn't even ask if she wanted him to drive - she chose to walk out on her crutches today, leaving the chair at home, and he admired her strength - Peter opted to drive without being asked, heading for the heart of the city. She asked him about the interview, where he was supposed to be interviewed, and what for, but when he explained that it was a security position for the political panel of the city her mouth turned down at the edges and she got quiet.

He noticed that, of the two of them, she now looked to be more nervous by far. Odd. The talk died down to silence until Tris flipped on the radio. Before the wall had come down, the only music he'd ever heard was in Amity, but it turned out that tons of people outside of Chicago were artists; even after two years it was still strange to hear music, and he had yet to stop being amazed and enthralled by the sounds, so he didn't mind. Curiosity burned in the pit of his stomach all the same, though.

It took nearly twenty minutes to get to the large building where he was supposed to be interviewed - it was one of the newly remodeled ones like Tris' apartment - and another ten to find a parking space. He wasn't surprised when she opted to stay in the vehicle rather than wait inside with him, but there was a little twinge of disappointment all the same. It was hard to admit, even in private to himself, that he could have used her support.

"When you get back, we'll go out for a celebratory brunch or something, okay?" Her smile didn't touch her eyes, but she was trying, so he forced himself to smile at her and hoped it was convincing. It was nice that she just assumed he'd get the job like that.

"Thank you. I'm glad you're here.." He was surprised at the words on his tongue, but found that he meant them wholeheartedly. That seemed to make her happier. Peter couldn't risk delaying any longer so he closed the door and turned on his heel, hearing it lock softly from behind him as he trotted across the lot and into the building. Now that he was alone his panic was back - he began to worry that maybe these people would know who he was, what he'd done, maybe he would find people he knew from before the war. His palms were slick with sweat, so he stuffed them in his pockets and walked up to the reception desk - the woman sitting behind it had a wide smile that stood out against her olive skin, there was no recognition in her eyes and he didn't recall her face, so that was a good start.

"Hello, sir, how can I help you today?" He cringed at her carefully rehearsed tone, but forced a calm, confident smile on his face all the same, leaning on the counter with his elbows. He needed to fall back into a persona of confidence - to look like he wasn't cringing with discomfort and fear on the inside.

"I'm scheduled for an interview today - Peter Hayes," Her eyes darted down to the screen in front of him and read over it for a moment, fingers clacking at the keys with an almost robotic accuracy. Something twitched in him to label her as Erudite, but her blouse was a soft pearl color and her pants were khaki - she had earrings and her hair was done up in a soft bun with a few stray frizzy hairs that threatened to break free. Only her ability to do her job properly fit the bill. She didn't adhere to any one part of the old norms - but then, no one did any longer. The factions were long gone. Thinking about it made him feel sick.

"Ah, there you are, Mr. Hayes. If you could just fill these out for me," She hummed softly, handing him a clipboard as she pulled him out of his own head. It looked like there was quite a bit of paperwork there, but he wasn't too concerned. Tris had already given him permission to list her address as his own, knowing well that it wouldn't do him any favors to openly admit he was living in abandoned houses. He was a good enough liar to make up the rest of it - this was the easy part. He walked away from the desk to a row of solid black and silver chairs that reminded him achingly of the Merciless Mart - the building lobby did, too, with its spotless white marble floors - and set to work, folding one leg across his lap to rest the clipboard on.

The forms were fairly straightforward in their questions; name, age, place of birth, past work experience, things of that nature. He easily twisted truths here and there, happy to omit reasons like 'strangled fellow co-worker' for something more appropriate like 'no room for advancement' in the fields of reasons for quitting. He'd done this dozens of times before in different locations. The second page asked about his mental health, about his training with firearms and even had a place to mark whether he'd had any work with the Dauntless faction in any of the experiments. He checked yes, despite wanting to hide, it would help out tremendously for his consideration. He scribbled in the margin what his ranking for initiation had been before rising and crossing the room to return his paperwork to the polite young woman with the plastered on smile.

"All done? Excellent. She'll be with you shortly," The receptionist's eyes didn't lift from her screen as she took the clipboard and begin to type rapid-fire, he presumed she was filling out his information on the screen and felt a twinge of irritation. Why couldn't she have just asked him those things, defeated the necessity of having him fill out paperwork? Peter breathed, though, and returned to his seat. He counted five minutes of irritating silence - only marred by the clacking of her keyboard across the room - before the air was filled with a loud clicking noise that he'd once associated with the approach of Jeanine Matthews.

It set him on edge. He glanced in the direction of the noise to find a startlingly familiar face, one he wasn't sure he'd be seeing again, not since he'd fallen off the radar in Milwaukee. She stopped at the reception desk and held her hand out, waiting for the eager girl sitting there to hand over his paperwork, then peered down at it with an unimpressed expression. The Erudite that had helped them all, that had been polite to him even when Tris hated his guts. Cara.

"So I guess the other cities just didn't cut it, you had to come back here?" She finally asked, brows upraised with a stern expression on her face, before turning away from the desk and continuing to walk back the way she'd come - he was still sitting in the chair, shocked to silence. Why did it have to be someone from his past - someone who knew all of his dirty secrets? "Are you going to sit there all day, Peter?" He flinched at her tone, feeling scolded, and rushed out of his seat with his pulse in his ears. He followed her as quickly as he could, which didn't give him a lot of opportunities to check out his surroundings. Mostly everything was made of steel or glass, though, and it was suffocatingly similar to Erudite. Even the lights were far too bright here. Cara did the talking so that all he needed to do was listen.

"Some of the people here didn't want me to even consider you for a position, you know. You've got a pretty colorful history, a..violent need to climb the ranks regardless of the severity of sacrifice," Her tone wasn't harsh, it didn't accuse him, it only stated a stream of facts. She was a walking, talking computer - he could appreciate that. This was a woman who didn't let her emotions interfere with her business. They entered an elevator and took it up to the third floor.

"So why did you, consider me, that is?" He asked, feeling bold.

"Because, I'm curious." The doors came open with a soft _ding_ , the floors were carpet in this part of the building, which dulled the sound of her heels. He was thankful for that. The severe blonde woman stopped outside a black door with her name written on a gold plaque and produced a key card, sliding it into the lock. The clunk that signified it disengaging was the only sound between them until she opened it and permitted him inside. Her office was moderately large, nothing overly flashy but big enough to show she was important. The entire back wall was a window that showed the views of the city - the bustling life an ever growing population a couple stories below. He could see where he'd parked the car from there, but it was too far down for him to get a good look inside. Cara took a seat behind her desk, and pointed to the chair across from it with that same stern expression she wore so easily.

"Curious about what?" He finally found his voice and managed to ask, which seemed to amuse her. Peter noticed that her office was almost entirely books - there were a few photographs, mostly turned away from prying eyes, but he spotted one of her with Four and Christina at what looked to be some kind of fancy event, and felt his stomach churn with anger. They looked happy - there was no sign of Tris, so it must have been after they abandoned her. He looked back to Cara's face and saw that her brows were raised - she'd taken notice of his irritation. Oops.

"To see if you'd changed. I've heard rumors about this destructive guy who tends to threaten and abuse people to get his way, and just leaves town when that doesn't work. I'm just curious to see if you're still that guy or if you've got the drive to excel in a position such as this. If you can put that anger to good use for once. So have you?"

That was an odd way to describe the position. He scowled down at his lap, his hands were resting there, fingers laced so tightly together that his knuckles were white. What was she saying? That she knew he was still a psychopath? That she wanted that kind of cruelty on their side, protecting their precious clients? Maybe this had been a mistake. He looked up to see her staring at him and frowned, sitting up a little straighter - he had to at least look confident, didn't he? Just because his world had been turned upside down by the hero of the city in one night didn't mean he could appear weak in front of someone like Cara. He felt the smirk pull at his lips just as easily as sliding into a jacket - it wasn't hard to adorn his confident, untouchable personality again - after all, it had been what helped him to survive everything thrown at him thus far, hadn't it? The change in demeanor seemed to catch her attention, she sat a little straighter and folded her hands on her desk, seemingly nervous.

"I think you'll find that I certainly have changed, I still have a lot of ambition and I won't see myself rot away in a low level position for the rest of my life while others excel simply because of their DNA, but I'm..flexible."

"Hm. We'll see about that. I want to accept you for the position-Ah no, don't get excited just yet, Peter, there are stipulations. Ground rules. You may have been Dauntless and you may have aided in freeing the city, but that was nearly two years ago. Plus, you don't have the best record of stability." He scowled, wanting to snap a witty retort at her, but he knew she wasn't insulting him - she was just stating the facts. Somehow that made it even more irritating. "If I'm going to allow you into a position where you're allowed to use force when necessary, where you'll be given a firearm and allowed near high value clients - I need to know you won't snap. You'll be required to go to weekly therapy sessions until your therapist deems you stable enough to stop, and you'll start out in training with a partner. You won't be working on your own for some months. Does that sound like something you'd agree to?" His cheeks were burning and he felt the sting of her insults - of what she wasn't saying.

That he needed to be watched - examined, poked and prodded at to make sure he wasn't a flight risk, or that he didn't stand to lose it and kill a client if he didn't get his way. How insulting. He curled his lip into a sneer and straightened his shoulders a bit - whatever fondness he might have felt at seeing Cara was gone now. What else could he have expected? Of course she thought he was a monster, everyone else did. He considered storming out - but remembered with a sting of frustration that he had no better option at the moment. He needed the money. Cara watched him tersely, her fingers ducking under her desk - did she intend to shoot him if he wasn't compliant? More than likely it was just a buzzer for security, but his paranoia knew no bounds. When he leaned back into his chair and relaxed his shoulders, she put her hands back up on the desk again, her face a little paler than before, but still confident. Still cold.

"From what I've been told about the pay, I'd say that's a fair deal - I won't be paying for the sessions, I take it?" That would have been an absolute deal breaker. Mandatory head shrinking wasn't something he'd be willing to spend money on. She looked surprised, but nodded her head to affirm.

"No, not at all. It's not a requirement of the company, it's a requirement from myself, from a fellow employee here - and from one of our clients." That piqued his interest. His eyes darted back to the frame where Four held Christina to his side almost lovingly, swallowing hard. He needed to keep his temper in check. "..Your assumptions would be correct." She murmured thinly, her voice still at the same tone as before, but it was obvious she was nervous to mention them. He frowned and looked her in the eye, trying to keep any and all emotion from his features. Cara didn't need to know how badly he wanted to destroy those two for what they'd done, for leaving Tris in the weakened, vulnerable state she was in now. She didn't need to know how much he cared about her when the last anyone had heard they hated one another.

"Then it's a deal."

Cara seemed pleased with that and looked back over the clipboard he'd filled out, her mouth puckering as though she'd just sucked on a lemon. It was an interesting expression. When her eyes darted up to his face they were almost accusatory. Uh oh. "How long have you lived at this address, Peter?" It was disarming how she kept saying his name - not like when Tris said it, she was almost talking to him like a child. Like he was less than she was - or maybe it was her way of reminding him of who he was. He felt the edges of his nails biting into his palms.

"Not long - it's not strictly my place, I'm just crashing there until I can get my own apartment with the money I make here," He stared her down, not flinching, not giving her any sign that he was lying. She didn't need to know that he wasn't even sure that was a true statement - she hadn't yet offered to let him stay there temporarily, it hadn't been discussed, but he had high hopes that she would tell him as much soon. He was already afraid to mention who he'd be working for- god _damn_ it. The realization hit him like a bag of bricks, and her seemingly random, sullen mood was suddenly absolutely reasonable. She knew. That was why she'd gotten so quiet - _that_ was why she'd acted so weird. His eyes darted from Cara's face, to the frame, to Tris' car in the parking lot. She fucking knew. Guilt tugged at his heart - it made sense that she'd chosen crutches, chosen to look strong. He was such an asshole for not realizing it sooner.

"So, you're rooming with Tris, then. How did that develop?" She looked incredulous. He scowled and leaned back in his chair. Was this normal procedure? What did it matter how he'd come to live with her, as long as he had a physical address?

"I don't see what that has to do with this," He gestured between them vaguely, brows pinched in irritation. He didn't want to explain that the girl who had saved the city had also saved him. That he could easily count kissing her in his top three favorite things in the universe. She didn't need to know that Beatrice fucking Prior was chipping the ice away from his heart one smile at a time. That was personal. Very fucking personal.

"Well, I'd say rekindling..or, I suppose, _kindling_ a friendship with someone you once tried to kill is a big step towards proving you're a more stable, reliable person, wouldn't you?"

He had nothing to say to that.

This went on for another fifteen minutes - she asked him more questions about his previous work, he'd made up lies where they fit and told the truth where it stood to benefit him, which wasn't very often. He was grateful that this was Cara, that she hadn't grown up in Candor where they were taught to sniff out a lie as easily as others were taught to read. Eventually, she'd typed up his information, had him sign more paperwork, and told him that if he was deemed stable during an evaluation from his new therapist at his first meeting - scheduled for the next coming week - and if he passed the physical exam, he'd start work immediately. They shook hands - she didn't say anything meaningless like how it was good to see him again, but she did comment on being eager to have him on board. Cara escorted him out herself, dropping off the paperwork he'd filled out with the girl at the front desk on their way.

"I hope you're as stable as you're claiming, Peter. You'd make an excellent asset to our team." She said as they stood at the doors - she seemed to be looking out the glass for something or someone. He was glad, suddenly, that he'd parked further away from the entrance. The blonde's features softened for a moment, showed a little of her human side, the one that hid behind the wall of facts, and he was genuinely surprised by it - enough that he stood and waited to see if she had anything else to say. Cautiously, she placed a hand on his shoulder and gave him a sad sort of smile. "Please tell Tris that we- that _I_ miss her." He scowled and jerked his shoulder back as though she'd burned him, shaking his head.

"If half of what I've heard is true, she won't be glad to hear that." He paused, frowned, then glanced back at her - if his words hurt, she didn't show it. Her face was a passive mask again. "Thank you for giving me a chance - I'm sure if anyone _else_ had their way I wouldn't get an opportunity to prove myself." Cara nodded at that and gave him a ghost of a smile before turning on her heel and heading back towards the elevators. He was almost grateful to her - even if it did seem like she was just the same as she'd been in the Bureau, impartial to any one side - trusting him and Caleb just as much as Tris. Did that mean she was impartial to Four and Christina, to what they'd done? He grit his teeth and stormed out, not wanting to be seen in this sort of mood by any of his possible future coworkers. There was no need to find himself pre-labeled as a prick with anger issues, after all. Though, if he'd be working alongside Christina, it was likely he'd been titled as much worse things already.

He stormed to the car, feeling himself relax as he saw Tris leaning against the window with her eyes closed. It looked like she was upset, but he could understand that entirely, now that he knew where he'd taken her, that she'd risked seeing those two here while waiting on him. He knocked gently on the window and her eyes popped open - the smile that tugged at her lips when she spotted him was enough to make his heart melt. She unlocked the door and he slipped in, feeling her fingers seek out his so that they were laced together, palm to palm. Her hands were as clammy as his. A rush of fondness threatened to choke him as he accepted the pains she'd gone to just to make sure he had a ride and didn't need to risk catching a bus or something, like anyone else would have done. It was brave, and selfless, and so very fucking Tris.

"How'd it go?"

"I..uh, I have to do some evaluations - psychiatric and physical, but if I pass those then I get the job," He explained quietly - she knitted her brows together and sat a little straighter at that, as though she knew without being told that the psychological requirement wasn't a normal thing. She probably knew more about this job than he did by far, now that he thought about it. Peter started the car and shifted into gear, not wanting to risk the chance of Christina or anyone else walking through the parking lot and upsetting Tris. Or upsetting him, for that matter. For a minute he considered not talking about his interview, but there was nothing to gain from keeping that information from her. Besides, for all he knew it might cheer her up. He bit the inside of his cheek and glanced through the windshield, uncertain of where they were driving to, exactly.

"Oh well..I guess that's a good start," Tris looked like she wanted to say more, the irritation in her expression was heart warming, but she left it at that and stared at her fingers in her lap instead, so he filled the silence himself.

"Turns out some people didn't want me to have that position, but..Cara, you remember Cara, right?" Her expression darkened as she stared at her lap and nodded, her teeth embedding into her lower lip, and he felt guilt rise in his chest, threatening to choke him. "She uh..thinks I stand a chance, of being okay at it, but I had to agree to doing these regular therapy sessions and she said I'd have to have a partner," His tone soured as he explained everything. She looked as upset as he felt, but nodded all the same. "I can't exactly turn down a job right now - especially not since you got me all dolled up." Peter attempted to diffuse the tension with humor, but she just looked out the window and frowned. Great. Maybe mentioning Cara hadn't been the best idea in the world. His hand moved to rest on her knee without his permission - it was a strange sight to behold - and she didn't push it away, so that had to be some kind of a good sign.

"Where did you want to go eat, anyway?" Tris glanced at him with a roll of her shoulders and he bit down his annoyance. It was only right that she get upset about friends she no longer had - it wasn't fair for him to be annoyed by it. If he were in her shoes he likely wouldn't have even let her drive him to that parking lot, so she was handling this better than he could have. Finally her teeth released her lower lip and she sighed softly.

"There's a diner just down the road from here - they've got really good muffins," She said softly, surprising him with the smile on her face, "I'm..I'm not okay, about Cara or..any of them, but..I need to start facing my problems instead of hiding. I'm really happy you're being considered for the position - and..maybe it's a good thing for you to get some therapy," Peter tried not to take that as an insult, but his fingers tightened around the wheel with irritation, "there's a lot of people who would kill to see a therapist for free, and who knows - maybe it'll be a good experience. I'm sure you'll do great on your evaluations, you certainly seem more..stable."

He shrugged, not able to find it within himself to argue with her - she was probably right, he just didn't want to admit it. That meant admitting there was something wrong with him. They fell into a more comfortable silence, his thumb rubbed circles on her knee and she traced the veins over the back of his hand. Their casual touches still frightened him, but he was trying, and he'd continue to try. It was nice to have someone care about him for a change, he wasn't going to throw that away without a fight. It turned out that she was absolutely right about the muffins, too. He had a pretty decent sized platter of meats and toast, but ordered a chocolate chip muffin to appease her. It was why they'd come there in the first place, after all. Her own plate was alarmingly small - one blueberry muffin and a cup of coffee. When he furrowed his brows at her meager portions she smiled and shook her head, waving a hand as though to dismiss his concerns.

"I'm not a breakfast person, don't worry. I'll eat my weight in something for lunch to make up for it,"

That didn't feel true, but he accepted it anyway. Silence seemed to be a regular thing with them - not because they didn't have anything to say, he thought, but because they were both comfortable enough to let it linger rather than fill it with meaningless conversation. He liked that. The little cafe was filled with soft music and the smell of baking bread and coffee beans, and he was surprised to find that he enjoyed the atmosphere. During his weeks spent homeless he'd walked past this very shop a handful of times, longing for the warmth within - it was satisfying to be seated inside in clothes that didn't have holes in them, looking out rather than in. His eyes trailed up her face as Tris glanced off to the side, following the curve of her cheekbone and the length of her lashes. It made his heart flutter - an odd sensation.

She looked like she was nervous, perched right on the edge of her seat, which struck him as odd, but she'd always been like that so he didn't question it..until her eyes widened and she sucked in a sharp breath - until she suddenly ripped her gaze from the room and stared at him again. Now it felt more like she'd been _looking_ for something, or some _one_. In her eyes Peter found that same storm from the night before in her kitchen - the pain and rage and hurt that she'd shown him. He took her hand, rubbing comforting circles over the back almost without meaning to.

Instinctively he jerked his head at the sound of a bell that notified the business their door had been opened. It made sense then. Walking inside, huddled together with his arm around her shoulders and her head ducked slightly - _laughing_ \- was Four and Christina. There wouldn't be a day that went by where he wouldn't recognize either of those two - one for her beauty and the other for his ferocity. For the hate that burned in his gut when he saw the man. They looked happy, which only made them being there that much worse, he felt Tris gripping his hand almost painfully for support, but didn't complain. Their heads swiveled from the left to the right, not yet noticing Peter and Tris - but he watched them. Waited. The effect was impossible to ignore as first Four and then Christina's gazes landed on their table - on the pair of them.

Peter's eyes were narrowed to slits, and Tris was staring into her plate as though it held the answers to the world. At first the couple across the room stood perfectly still - they looked panicked - but slowly their gazes seemed to bounce from Peter to Tris to their joined hands and then to one another. A small part of him felt satisfaction at the muscle that clenched in Four's jaw. Good. Let him be angry. Hearing Tris' sharp, rapid breathing ripped him back into reality and he turned to face her - she was looking at him for all intents and purposes, but he could see the way she kept glancing at them out of the corner of her eye. Peter reached out and took her other hand, which had been balled into a fist on the table, pushing his fingers into her palm so as to make her release the fist.

That got her attention and made her glance back at him, he found that her eyes were hard and angry rather than welling with tears, which was a relief. He'd almost started to worry that her strength had begun to wither, but now he could see that she was as powerful as ever. He offered her a smile, a genuine honest to goodness smile, and gave each of her hands a gentle squeeze. Just like the night before, the ability, no, the _need,_ to comfort her came to him with very little effort, he felt himself easily sliding into the role of someone softer than himself. Someone capable of coddling her, rather than breaking her down into tiny pieces. Slowly his thumbs rubbed across the backs of her knuckles, moving in gentle circles over the scarred flesh he found there. Memories of initiation, of those fists meeting his flesh, flashed through his mind and he swallowed a chuckle.

"Pretend I've said something funny," He murmured, not breaking eye contact - he could see the confusion on her face melt away into understanding before she wet her lower lip and giggled. It was surprisingly convincing for someone who was a terrible liar, but he joined in, laughing heartily and easily.

"You're hilarious, did you know that?" She hummed in an almost flirtatious tone, which left him pleasantly surprised. He slipped one of his hands out of hers and leaned forward to brush a strand of hair behind her ear - he could feel the couple staring at him even without looking. _Good_ , he thought, grinning from ear to ear like the cat that had caught the canary. _Let them stare._ He was staring, too, at her soft blue-grey eyes and at the corners of her lips, at the way her bottom lip was slightly swollen and still showed indentations of her teeth. He thought of kissing her then.

"I actually didn't, so thank you for enlightening me. I'm always happy to make a pretty girl laugh," He was laying it on thick, sure, and even winked at her for good measure, but it seemed to have worked because out of the corner of his eye he saw Christina gawping at them openly and Four staring at the back wall pointedly, while they waited in line to order. That sent a satisfied shiver down his spine, but then, so did the pretty blush that crept up Tris' cheeks. He decided then that he'd definitely need to flirt with her more - bringing a flush like that to her face was far more satisfying than causing her cheeks to redden with anger.

"You..think I'm pretty?" She looked down at her plate and smiled wider than before, and he had to wonder if that was for show or not - she'd spoken in a tone that was too quiet to hear from across the room so he had to guess that she was genuinely curious about his opinion of her. Shit. He was getting himself in deeper than he'd ever meant to. Biting the inside of his cheek, Peter lifted his hand to cup her cheek gently - speaking honestly despite the terror ripping through his chest and lungs. Honesty was different for him, foreign and difficult and _new_ , normally he wouldn't admit anything truthful - he wouldn't compliment her so easily. He'd put her down to spare himself the trouble of trying to be nice. And yet here he was.

"I think you're absolutely stunning, Tris. You're a god damned gift to the eyes." Her expression was amused, but soft, and she lifted a hand to rest over top of his, closing her eyes while taking a shaky breath. When she opened them again there was a fondness Peter hadn't been sure he'd ever see directed at him - at anyone else but the hulking idiot across the cafe holding her best friend to his side. It twisted something in his gut and filled him with things he wasn't used to feeling. What on earth was this woman doing to him? Then she surprised him, which was frustratingly easy for her to do, it seemed, as she gently tugged on his tie until he was forced to lean closer and pressed her lips to his. The kiss was quick, but it had his heart in his throat all the same when she pulled away, and released his tie. He swallowed hard, certain he looked dumbstruck, and saw that her mouth was pulled into a coy smile. She nodded towards the exit none too subtly.

"Let's get out of here, yeah?" Fondness for the blonde in front of him threatened to destroy Peter then and there, to eat him alive and make him whole again over and over. He didn't trust his voice, so he nodded instead. Through the process of paying and leaving, Tris didn't look at Christina or Four once - but he did. Christina looked like she wanted to kill him and Four looked like he'd eaten something particularly foul tasting - it made him puff up with pride. When he caught Four's eye, Peter winked at him and was tickled by the shade of red the larger male turned - it made up for the fact that he looked _much_ better in his business suit. Peter noticed with satisfaction that Tris was carrying her crutches out, walking on her own two..somewhat unsteady feet. Rather than be worried for her well being, he simply held her hand, opened the door for her, and followed the strongest woman he'd ever known back out into the chilly bustle of the city he'd once fled.

* * *

Tris had left him alone in the apartment after they got back, apologetically explaining that she had physical therapy to attend. With free reign he took another shower, changing into the casual t-shirt and shorts she'd bought him and hanging his suit up carefully so that it didn't crumple. After familiarizing himself with her home, touching and inspecting her books and the few pieces of art she had hanging on the walls - which, as he suspected, some _were_ Tori's - he settled into her kitchen, cleaning the mess they'd left in the sink the night before.

It was surprising how much he didn't mind the manual labor, it was actually almost calming. Once everything was clean and dry and put back in its proper place he realized he was hungry. A quick glance through her fridge later had him standing with one of her cook books in hand, sifting through the stiff pages - it didn't seem like she'd used it at all, or if so, very rarely. He quickly decided on making spaghetti and meatballs - it looked easy enough and she had all the right stuff for it. The sauce had been the trickiest part, but he was fairly happy with it when all was said and done, maybe a little too salty but then, he'd never made the damn stuff before so it was better than it could have been.

He was just filling one of her pots with water and placing it on the eye of the stove when he heard her door open - instinctively he turned his head to greet her, and his stomach dropped. One look at her trembling legs, and the way she seemed ready to collapse at any moment set Peter into motion. He wiped his hands dry on a towel nearby, before flipping off the stove eye off so as to not burn their dinner, then hurried over to her side. He carefully scooped her up in his arms, as he'd done the night before, rolling his eyes at her feeble complaints, and gently plopped her down on her couch.

"Fuck, Tris, did the make you run a _marathon_?"

"What? No - though I'm flattered you think I could run one." Instead of going back to the kitchen as he originally planned, Peter sat down next to her and rested her legs in his lap. Without really intending to, he began to gently massage her bare calves. She slowly leaned her head back and closed her eyes with a satisfied hum that encouraged him on. A shiver ran up his spine at the noise. For a few minutes she was quiet, other than the soft little mewls of approval, letting him work her sore, overstimulated muscles, but eventually she dragged herself upright, her cheeks a soft shade of pink that he'd come to adore. She blushed so easily. Tris still looked tired, but less likely to faint, which was a definite improvement.

"Thank you, but I'm okay, really - I hadn't gone to therapy in..well, too long, so it was a little more difficult than it should have been, but they said the nerve damage is getting much, much better." He grinned at that, slipping her shoes off for her before getting up - now that he knew she wasn't in immediate danger he needed to continue cooking. "That smells really good, by the way - you didn't need to go to all that effort, especially after dinner last night.," Tris complained, which only made him chuckle under his breath. It was just like her to tell him not to do nice things when she was more than half of the reason he had a job. He spotted a soft blanket on the couch and grabbed it up, covering her. For his sake, Peter hoped that these natural impulses of kindness didn't go away any time soon, because the look of gratitude on her face was enough to make the twinge of discomfort at helping someone for no reason more tolerable.

"Sure I did - I'm already spoiled on the posh life of nice meals. Now get some rest - I'll wake you when dinner's ready."

It did something strange to him, seeing that she apparently trusted him enough to fall asleep that easily in his presence, curling up and closing her eyes with a contented sigh. Peter wasn't sure what to do about the fact that there was a happy bubble in his chest when he returned to cooking, but it felt nice and that was good enough for him. When the time came to wake her, he found that Tris was feeling much better, though she struggled to cross the room and needed her crutches just to get from the couch to her chair.

He didn't offer to help her. Not out of cruelty this time, but out of respect for her strength. She wasn't someone who needed constant coddling, after all, and he knew that better than anyone. He'd pushed her harder than most people could handle and she'd bounced back from that - this would be no different. They ate in relative silence, aside from the occasional polite compliment here and there - he got the impression that she was contemplating something, she spent more time twirling her fork in the noodles than she did actually eating. Finally she put the utensil down and looked, a thoughtfulness in her expression. He raised his brow and waited, suddenly nervous.

"I think you should stay here, I mean, just until you can get back on your feet and all. Only if you want, that is.." She surprised him as they started eating, looking at her plate like she hadn't just dropped a bomb like that.

He stared at her for a moment, unsure. Had he heard her correctly?

"..I..are you sure about that?" He didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth - not sleeping on the streets was definitely something he was happy to get on board for, but he feared that she might get tired of him hanging around. It was a miracle that neither of them had managed to start a fight yet - it was only a matter of time, he figured, before her kindness and his welcome were worn out. Something about that made his chest hurt. She rolled her eyes and smiled at him, giving her head a shake before picking her fork up again.

"Look, I mean - I could use an extra hand around the house and..well, the company is nice, too. I don't like the idea of you being homeless while you wait for a check to come through big enough to get your own place. It..would benefit us both- so..yeah, I'm sure about it.."

"Wow. Fuck I- _thank_ you, Tris. I won't be in your hair forever, just a couple weeks..probably."

He felt giddy with relief, suddenly. Knowing he'd have a roof over his head and food in his stomach for the foreseeable future was enough to curb even his unnaturally high levels of skepticism. Slowly they slipped back into silence, though he caught her glancing at him now and then with an usually wide smile. Her dour mood from the night before, even from that morning, seemed to have vanished entirely. Peter allowed himself to think, to hope, that maybe he had something to do with it. He made her stay sitting as he cleared the table, loading her dishes into the sink to clean up later, it'd give him something to do while he waited impatiently to start working, anyway. He was standing awkwardly in her kitchen then, watching her yawn, and wondering what their sleeping arrangements would be. Part of him remembered the feel of her lips on his with a shudder - he hadn't tried to since their lunch, but suddenly he wanted to kiss her. Part of him knew he was getting himself into trouble, but he was starting to not care.

He wanted to push the foreign boundaries around them. This was all new territory for either of them and he needed to learn the lay of the land if they were going to coexist.

Maybe she'd want to learn, too.

* * *

I've got one more chapter in this series, then I'll be focusing entirely on Mutually Assured Destruction. I've really enjoyed writing this one, though, and once I get more work done on my other story, I may revisit this one in either Tris or even Christina/Tobias' perspective! As always, the feedback is really, really appreciated.


	6. I've Never Been Known To Frighten Easily

Big shout out to the lovely and sweet reviews I've been getting on this story. You're all so fantastic and it makes me feel amazing to read how much you've enjoyed this story!

Head's up that this is basically just pure smut - it's been a long time coming for this little ficlet - so here we have it! Hope you enjoy if you're into that thing, if not, you can skip down to the bottom for the sappy stuff ;)

" _Apart from when I lost my virginity, I've never been known to frighten easily_ ," - Last Night I Dreamt, The Wombats

* * *

Tris pushed herself slowly up from the table, her legs wobbling with the effort, and he instinctively stepped closer, throwing an arm around her waist to steady her while still giving her the freedom to walk on her own. She wrapped her arm around his back, balling her fingers in the material of his shirt, and started towards her bedroom with him in tow. Slowly, carefully, they made it through her doorway, and to the side of her bed. Almost immediately, she sank like a stone onto it, dragging him with her. Peter let out a surprised _oof_ and rolled to the side, wanting to avoid crushing her small frame beneath his weight, and she laughed. She still had her hand pressed to his back, but he instinctively moved his arm from beneath her to drape above her head, feeling her hair tickle the bare skin of his wrist.

For a long moment they laid like that, looking at one another uncertainly, but slowly her eyes left his and settled on his mouth, sending a shiver through him. She bit down on her lower lip, making him groan deep in his throat. He dampened his lips self consciously, feeling his heart pulsing in his ears, before crushing their mouths together with a desperate kind of hunger. The soft sound she made was enough to encourage him on; he could feel her fingers tightening in the material of his shirt, pulling him to her, so he obliged.

He shifted slightly, so that his forearms were on either side of her head, humming against her lips as a tingle ran down his spine and set him on fire. Her smell was familiar, a combination of sweat and soap, and it was intoxicating. Carefully, slowly, Peter moved so that he was hovering above her, pressing his leg between the apex of her thighs as he deepened the kiss. Her tongue brushed his lip tentatively and he smirked, allowing her access while he moved one hand down to rest on her hip. Their tongues met in a battle for dominance as she began to shed her timid nature; he tested the water by rolling his hips, grinding against her core.

Her whimpers were enough to break him - so he did it again, dragging his thigh at an infuriatingly slow pace backwards before leaning into her again. The material of his shorts constricted against him agonizingly as she splayed her palm against his spine, urging him to keep moving. So he did, greedily searching her mouth while rubbing his leg in swift, rough motions. She was biting her lips to keep from moaning and her skin was hot under his hand as he pressed it beneath the material of her shirt.

Almost immediately his touch found her scars, the raised skin where the bullets had exited, and she turned to stone. Tris was no longer kissing him, rather, she turned her head away and tried to compose herself - her shoulders were rising and falling rapidly and Peter couldn't have been sure the reasoning behind it was arousal. More than likely, it was fear. Slowly he traced the scars and watched her face, her expression, as she closed her eyes and her lower lip wobbled. Shit.

"Tris..talk to me.." The sound of his voice was surprising - husky and breathless - and he caught her attention immediately. She turned her head so that they were staring at one another again; he expected to see her eyes glazed like the night before, or full of tears, but they were alert. Fearful. It made his stomach twist - especially at how that look made his cock twitch. That wasn't an appropriate response at all - maybe he really did need therapy. She used her free hand to grip his wrist, pulling it away from her stomach to rest on the bed beside her body and giving her head a subtle shake.

"I don't..I'm sorry, I..I don't think I can do this yet," She whispered, making him equal parts frustrated and concerned. Was he supposed to push her - make her face her fears, like they used to in Dauntless? - or was he supposed to be gentle and understanding? His arousal was almost painful at this point, thrumming in his veins, achingly persistent in the need for release; the idea of stopping was agony. He didn't realize he was holding his breath until it was released, whooshing out of him as though he were a balloon that had been stuck with a pin. He ran his tongue over his lower lip, tasting her there, and moved the hand she'd put on the bed up to drag through his hair, fingers tangling in the curls. He wanted her - truly and desperately - but he also wanted to not fuck this up. Her hand fell from his back and plopped on the bed behind him in defeat. She looked ashamed.

"I understand, I do.." He murmured, which was hard to say - it made him think that maybe he really was becoming a better person. The man he used to be would have guilted her, pushed her to continue, complained that she'd already gone and gotten him worked up - how could she leave him dry like that? But he bit back the complaints and tried to be understanding; she was trying, and she'd invited him into her life, into this aspect of herself knowing full well who he was. She trusted him with her fears, her weaknesses.

What would it mean for all the recovery he'd claimed to have gone through to Cara just hours before, if he let his own selfishness stand in the way of Tris' comfort? He swallowed hard and leaned down to kiss the hollow of her throat, hearing her gasp at the sensation, before he pulled back to examine her features. She was pale, not flushed with desire but trembling with barely checked terror. That was less attractive. At least he wasn't a complete psychopath, he was grateful for that. There was time he would have stroked himself to completion just with the image of her now - like this. Now he felt himself wilting slightly.

"I know I'm being a coward.." She whispered, shutting her eyes. _No_ , he thought desperately, dropping his hand from his hair to cup her cheek, _don't do that - look at me._ He couldn't say the words though, try as he might. He couldn't be that gentle. Peter sat up, sliding off of her bed to stand between her knees. That got her attention, her eyes snapped open and she stared up at him with a look that twisted his heart. Did she think he was leaving her? He gently placed his hands on each of her knees and smiled down at her, hoping it was a comfort rather than something to concern her. Tris leaned up on her elbows to watch him, brows knitted together in confusion, but she didn't try to stop him.

"I know you're..not ready, for that kind of thing. I get it, really, but - let me try something, okay? Be open minded - you can tell me if you want me to stop, but try to enjoy it first. Be brave, Tris." He could tell his words worried her more than they put her at ease, but he felt certain that he could do this, that he could start to erase her fears. He was careful not to make any quick movements, gently sliding his hands along her thighs, never going to the inside or outside, just from knee to hip at first.

She seemed to relax and even leaned back a little, until his fingers found the button of her jeans, it was like he'd touched her with a live wire. Tris flinched and reached for his hand with wide eyes, sitting upright and leaning on her free elbow. She hadn't protested yet, but she was tense again, the muscles in her arms were taught and her jaw was clenched. He bit his cheek and stopped, meeting her gaze for a few silent moments before asking softly, "Do you trust me?"

Tris laughed, but it was a sad sort of sound, unlike the one he'd come to enjoy. He remembered her proclamation of forgiveness the night before, and wondered if she'd meant it. Did she still see him holding her over the Chasm? Feel his hand touching her chest? He swallowed hard at the prospect - it hurt to think about. She didn't speak, but she did move her hands away, which he took as a good sign. His motions were still gentle as he popped the button and lowered her zipper; she made the process easier by lifting her hips for him until the material was bunched around her ankles and eventually thrown to the floor.

He had to stop, then, sucking in a sharp breath as he took in the sight. Her legs may have been thinner from lack of use, but they were still smooth, and spoke of hidden muscles beneath the cool, creamy flesh. They were as gorgeous as he'd remembered them being the day he'd exposed her in front of his friends. The fact that she was allowing him to look made the whole situation far more enjoyable. Tris immediately tried to cover her exposed panties with one hand and reached for the cover with her other, but he placed his larger hands over hers and shook his head. Peter smiled at her as fondly as he was capable of.

"Jesus, Stiff, you're aware of how sexy you are, right?" He whispered, biting down on his lip as he cautiously resumed the motions from before, running his fingertips, and eventually his palms, from knee to hip. It raised chill bumps on her skin. Peter finally looked up at her then, caught her eyes and saw the uncertainty being clouded with fondness. She moved her arms back to her sides where she propped herself up on her elbows again to watch him. There was a laugh on her lips that sounded like heaven, and he realized with a start that he'd been the one to put it there. He'd made her laugh like that.

"I actually didn't, so thank you for enlightening me," She parroted him with a coy smile that did bad things to his heart. How dare she be this powerful? His hands rubbed against her skin in a steady rhythm, kneading the flesh as he worked not only on her thighs, but the calves as well, gently massaging her as he'd done on the couch earlier. Tris threw her head back and sighed at his touches, sounding content. That somehow, rather than quelling the aching need inside him, only served to turn him on even more. She was putty beneath his fingers - and a sight to behold with the soft black cotton of her underwear contrasted against her otherwise pale skin. He longed to remove the shirt, too, but knew better than to push his luck. For now this would do. When she stretched, the hem of her shirt rose to expose her navel and the four bullet wounds she was so sensitive about. They were puckered, an angry shade of red against her skin, the grouping was messy and it was easy to see that the man who had shot her had no idea what he'd been doing. She had been very lucky.

Before she could stop him he leaned up and brushed his lips over the scars - they were warmer than the rest of her body and soft the way only new flesh could be. She shivered, but didn't pull away from him, so he kissed each individual one, sliding his hands slowly up the inside of each of her knees until his fingers reached the supple skin of her inner thighs. Her body trembled beneath him; he could feel the less than subtle warmth coming from her and grinned to himself. He'd done that, too. His eyes drifted up her torso and captured hers, while he finally bridged the gap with one hand, rubbing his thumb against the center of her body. The effect was immediate. Tris gasped and closed her eyes - even from where he rested he could see her nipples were pert against the thin material of her bra. Good.

Slowly, Peter flicked her sensitive nub through the fabric again, grinning at the way she arched her back just a little towards his touch. Emboldened by her movements, he shifted and cradled her in his palm, pressing his hand firmly against her - it was satisfying to see how much she enjoyed it. Tris was frustratingly quiet, though, her noises muffled and held back - he needed her to put a stop to that. She had her lip between her teeth again, trying to keep silent, so he reached up with his free hand and pushed his thumb against the soft flesh there, tugging gently while giving her a meaningful stare. He could see the glazed look he'd been missing before in her eyes, the need and desire that was currently burning him alive from the inside was mirrored in her.

"Don't. I want to hear you," He murmured, feeling a swell of pride at the immediate widening of her eyes and the way she released her lower lip. As he went to pull his thumb back she cautiously darted her tongue out to roll over the pad of it, making him shudder. That seemed to be all the motivation she needed as Tris wrapped her lips around his digit, suckling at it gently - her teeth grazed his flesh, biting down just soft enough to be pleasurable, when he pressed his palm against her a little more forcefully.

Peter allowed himself a few seconds longer to enjoy the sensation before he pulled his his thumb free with a soft _pop._ Fuck. His self control was dwindling fast, with the pressure of the bed against his groin sending waves of almost painful pleasure rocketing through his legs, and her weak moans filling his ears, it was a wonder he hadn't completely lost his mind yet. The fact that she was still allowing him to touch her meant that he could gently ease his plan along.

When he stopped rubbing at her, now damp, panties, she whimpered and looked to him with half lidded eyes, an unformed question on her lips. Her forehead was slick with sweat, and her face was flushed. He knew with certainty that her breathing had nothing to do with fear in that moment. First he leaned forward, close enough that his world was filled with the scent of her arousal - just as pure and enticing as he'd have expected from someone like her.

Without breaking eye contact, Peter pressed his lips to the wet patch of cloth, kissing her softly before lightly blowing a puff of hot air against her there. That made her squeak and gently buck her hips upward, much to his pleasure. While she was distracted, he quickly hooked his thumbs into the waistband of the black cloth, tugging downwards hard enough to roll the offending garment down along her thighs. She gasped and he grinned - in a new way, a way she only seemed capable of bringing out in him. There was no malice to be found in his features at that moment.

"D-don't look-"

Before she had a chance to back down, he delved back between her thighs; without any barrier to hide it, he could easily see the effect he'd had on her. One of his hands moved to the front of his shorts, rubbing at the agonizingly painful hard on that was still trapped behind cloth to ease some of his discomfort, the other rested itself on her hip. He kissed her sensitive bundle of nerves first, making her whimper, and he noticed that she was now pushing the front of her shirt down, as though trying to cover what he'd exposed. Peter didn't allow for that to happen - he dropped his chin a few inches and dragged his tongue between her soft lower lips, tasting her juices fully for the first time. She tasted better than he could have hoped. That was the first time she moaned his name.

It was breathy and weak, and her voice cracked on the end, but she'd said it. "Oh _Peter,"_ Fuck.

Peter busied himself with his tongue, the hand between his own legs finally unbuttoning his shorts and slipping into his underwear to pump at the now weeping erection from within. She couldn't see it from her angle, and he was thankful for that. He moved the hand on her hip, wrapping his arm around her thigh to push her legs upward until her calves rested on each of his shoulders - with the better angle his tongue delved deeper and she sang with appreciation.

Tris' fingers buried themselves in his hair then, twisting and pushing at him, much to his delight. She seemed too timid to tell him what to do, or what felt nicest, but he didn't hear any complaints - so that was something to be thankful for. His entire existence had shrunk to the heat between her thighs and waves of pleasure rolling through him with each pump of his fist. It had been too long since he'd felt this way, since his chin had been soaked with the arousal of a beautiful woman and his ears were filled with the sounds of her ecstasy.

He wanted more than anything to rest between her legs and take her - but worry that she might change her mind, or accuse him of tricking her, made him stay where he was, barely standing on legs that threatened to give out at any second. That and the sheer drive to push her over the edge. Making her feel good was enough for him, right then. With more control than he even had been aware he possessed, Peter withdrew his hand from his aching member, immediately feeling the waistband of his briefs press it solidly against his stomach. He then removed his tongue from her folds and gently slipped a finger inside of her, now that she was lubricated enough to handle it.

His abandoned erection throbbed needily against his torso. To ease her discomfort, he sucked at the tender bud just above her entrance, flicking his tongue over it to illicit yelps and whimpers and a soft plea for _more_. Slowly, at first, he pumped his digit inside, groaning at the tight heat that he found there, before curling it and finding a spot he was certain Tris didn't know existed until her eyes widened and she cried out his name for the second time. Her grip on his hair was more firm, now, and she was desperately bucking her hips into him for friction. It was possibly one of the hottest experiences of his entire sad, short life. If the world were to come to an end in that instant he would have died happy.

"P-please..I..I want you to-" She yelped out, tugging on his hair, away from her core and towards her face - the tingles of pain only served to make him moan. He complied, grunting at the sensation of his weight and the bed pressing against him - by then he was sure he'd never been harder in his life. He was panting as he crawled up until he was straddling her, all the shifting had lost him his shorts, so all that stood between them were the soft cotton briefs that clung to his hips and pressed the head of his cock against his navel firmly.

He grinned down at her, drinking in the sight of Tris, whimpering and flushed. Begging for _him_ to please her. The pair were covered in sweat, and struggling to catch their breath; she was more gorgeous in that moment than he could ever have recalled seeing before. She looked..happy - desperate and mewling for release - but happy all the same, untroubled by her normal problems. Peter paused long enough to tear his shirt over his head, smirking down at her as she stared at him, drinking him in with the same hunger, the same ferocity, as he felt towards her.

"You should taste yourself," He practically growled, leaning down closer to her face, "You're delicious.." And just like that his lips found hers, he used one hand to steady himself while the other pushed the soft cotton of her t-shirt up slowly. She didn't stop him. Their tongues met and she moaned into his mouth, bowing her hips upward so that she ground herself against his poor, neglected erection. It was almost enough to make him come right then and there, feeling the warmth of her flesh against the sensitive head that was just barely poking above his waistband. Self control went out the window as his skin was covered in goosebumps. He pulled back from her lips and kissed a line down her jaw to nibble at her earlobe playfully. His voice was a rough whisper, laced with what felt like _years_ of pent up aggression, desire, and longing.

"I wanna fuck you, Tris."

To his surprise, she nodded vigorously, mewling out a weak ' _please_ '. He hadn't expected her to let him do half of what he had - but maybe she'd just never been introduced to foreplay. It seemed just like that idiot Four not to want to warm a girl up before seeking his own pleasure. Stiffs weren't supposed to enjoy sex - he probably thought that whatever he'd tried felt good. It was a rush to imagine that he'd never seen her like this - writhing and whimpering and _begging_ for more.

Peter leaned back on his heels, which only proved to press them together at their cores once again. Deftly, his fingers pulled on her shirt until she complied, lifting her hands above her head so that he could finally expose her upper half. Just like when he'd removed her jeans, he had to stop and admire her - for all the muscle mass she'd lost to nerve damage in her legs, she'd absolutely kept if not gained in her upper body. He gently unclasped the soft black bra that hid the last of her dignity from him, pulling it away and hissing through his teeth at the effect her full nudity had on him.

"You're beautiful," He murmured, without meaning to, tracing the few scars she had above the waist with his fingers, running them up and down her sides, before he finally remembered himself. She was writhing beneath him, her eyes pleading for what her mouth wouldn't ask. He smiled at that, and pushed himself forward, grinding his hips into hers to create agonizing friction, dragging open mouthed kisses down her neck.

Peter paused to kiss the divot between her collarbones and, slowly, his trail led him to her breasts; he'd been dreaming of this moment for longer than he could recall. There had been many nights spent, muffling his moans into his hand, as he fantasized about her supple chest while pumping his fist below the sheets. Now he hovered above them, grinning at the hardened nubs that topped her small white breasts, soft and pink and better than he could have imagined. Gorgeous.

He glanced up at her, pleased to see that she was borderline frustrated with him. Good. That meant she wasn't backing down yet, that she still wanted him. With an air of confidence, he traced kisses around the sensitive rings of her nipples, not actually touching the buds themselves, teasing them both. Only when she finally groaned in complaint and reached for his head in an attempt to push it closer, did he actually latch his mouth onto her nipple, slowly swirling his tongue in slow, lazy circles.

Tris cried out, rocking her hips upward with a new kind of need, and he smirked against her chest with satisfaction. His fingers shifted to her neglected breast, gently twisting and flicking and stimulating her, while he continued to lap at the other. Affecting her like this felt better than any time he'd threatened someone's life, any time he'd incited fear in another person, all of his terrible misdeeds combined. His free hand reached between them, thrusting his fingers back inside her walls with a new mission in mind.

He started as he had before, one finger gently probing and preparing her, and when she began to wiggle against him needily, he added a second - she whimpered, like it might have hurt, so he slowed his pace and gently scissored his fingers, stretching her. Tris' moans pushed him to move again and, soon, he was thrusting his hand roughly inside of her, causing her to thrash desperately against his palm, soaking him with her juices. Peter grinned from ear to ear and leaned away from her breasts to kiss the shell of her ear. His breath was ragged and all he wanted was to shove himself deep inside of her, to find release in her, but instead he controlled himself, and continued to pump his fingers, now adding a third.

"Tell me what you want," He murmured quietly in her ear, wanting to hear the words from her mouth. At first she was silent, pressing her lips together in a firm line that turned the skin there white, and he stopped moving his hand, leaving his fingers immobile inside of her. Tris whimpered and tried to rock her hips up to cause the friction she desired, but he removed his fingers all together at that point. She huffed and turned her head to face him, determination in her eyes - he was glad to see she wasn't afraid. Embarrassed, maybe, but not afraid.

"I..w-want you to..to.." She struggled with herself, and he raised his brow to challenge her, knowing that was the best way to get results. A lot had changed, but she was still Dauntless to the core - she still wouldn't bow down to a bold faced dare. Her face flushed an even deeper red as she finally said it, quieter than he'd have liked, but the words shuddered through him all the same, "I want you to f-..fuck me, Peter.." She didn't sound confident, mostly he presumed because she'd never used the word in that way before, but it was all the go ahead that he required.

"Good girl," He all but growled, pulling back from her long enough to remove his briefs. In that time she reached for her night stand, fumbling through one of the drawers until her fingers came back holding a golden packet in the shape of a small square. "Why, Tris, someone might think you were prepared for this - what kind of boy do you take me for?" Peter panted, a smile on his lips as he took it from her to tear with his teeth. She laughed breathlessly and slapped his arm with a playful, "Shut up!" The pair of them were completely exposed now and he couldn't help but enjoy the way her eyes widened as they strayed down his chest and focused on the pulsing erection she'd given him. Now she looked slightly wary again. He carefully rolled the plastic sleeve down his crown, shivering at the pressure, and onto his shaft.

Once he was sure the condom was securely in place, he gently parted her legs with his thighs and knelt between them, leaning forward with one hand on his base to guide himself while the other rested by her head. He said he'd fuck her, and he meant it, but right now she needed him to be gentle, so he was. Peter nearly broke when the head of his member pressed against her soft, soaked lips, it was more difficult than he could have imagined to slowly slip inside of her when all he wanted to do was shove his way in. His breaths were shaky, as were hers, and their skin was slick where it touched; he could smell her arousal and his own, her sweat and the soap they'd both used - even the smell of her laundry detergent was prominent in that moment. Her eyes, as he stared into them, were the bluest he'd ever seen. As he eased another inch in, he finally felt the barrier he'd have to break and watched as she scrunched her face up in discomfort.

"This is going to hurt," He murmured, and she glared up at him defiantly in that moment - reminding him just who he was talking to. This was the girl he'd beaten unconscious, that had been shot and lived twice; she had been beaten and abused and fought back through it all. Tearing through her hymen would be like a bee sting by comparison. She choked on her laugh, whimpering when it made him press against the only thing that stood between him and being fully inside of her.

"I think I can take it.." All the same, he leaned down and kissed her, pressing a hand between them to rub at her rosebud - it was almost painful to feel her walls clench around him in response. Tris moaned and he pushed forward quickly, breaking through and continuing until his stomach was pressed flush against her - and still he rubbed his thumb in slow circles, stimulating her. His lips found hers, hoping to distract her from the discomfort, his teeth nipped at her lower lip until she allowed him entrance.

She clung to him then, her nails biting into the flesh of his back, and he moaned at the sting of painful pleasure that flared beneath each of her fingers. Peter didn't budge once he found his way inside of her, allowing for her to adapt to his size. The hand between them continued moving, bringing sounds from her that would prove to be his demise, he was certain of it. When she wiggled beneath him impatiently, he grimaced at the constricting walls surrounding him, and took that as his go-ahead. Their lips parted as he rested his forehead against hers, gasping for air.

"God damn it you're tight," He whispered, slowly beginning to pump his hips into her - she gasped and whimpered at his movements, he could still see the pain in her expression, but she wasn't stopping him, and that was all that mattered amidst his bliss. All he could feel was the heat of her cushioning him on all sides, the burn of his flesh when she lost traction in his sweat and her nails dragged down his back deliciously, and the slick movement of her chest against his with each thrust. He'd had sex before, sure, and it had been great, but it didn't come close to this - to staring into her eyes and watching her mouth form a perfect 'o', to listening to her go from whimpering to full out wailing, at first nonsense, then his name. Then more nonsense. He moaned and grunted hers in response, panting with the effort of each stroke. Peter found himself whispering sweet nothings, complimenting her when he could and whispering his need when he couldn't.

It was easy to get lost in the motions; when she steadied her hands on his shoulders and nodded, he finally started bucking his hips hard, moving faster than before, until all he could hear was the slap of flesh and the bang of her headboard against the wall mingling with their desperate noises. He wanted release more than anything at this point, moving his hand from between her legs to cup her breast, while he held his body up with the other beside her head.

Peter was seeing stars at this point, hair clinging to his forehead with sweat, pushing her to her limits, pushing himself to the same place. He hoped he could get her off before he finished - if not he'd just have to find another way to. Her voice started to sound more choked, broken and choppy and lost - she'd long ago buried her fingers in the sheets instead of in his flesh and he was barely hanging on by a thread.

Her squeal of pleasure and the way she suddenly just _stopped_ before her body began to tremble, and her walls clenched around him deliciously, were all good signs that she'd finally jumped off of the ledge, and he was free to follow her. It was impossible to tell how long he'd been here, inside of her, _one_ with her, but his muscles were screaming from the effort.

Ducking his head, he claimed her lips again, her tongue sought his out without hesitation, suckling with a confidence that shoved him over the edge and into oblivion. When he finally reached the breaking point, Peter saw white, screwing his eyes shut so slightly it hurt, and the noises he made were hardly human. "Tris!" He yelped, embarrassed at the octave his voice came out in. It was likely the hardest he'd ever come before - the sensation shuddered through him, turning his limbs to jello - and he barely had time to roll off of Tris before he fell to the bed in a panting, throbbing heap.

"Holy shit.." He heard her whisper breathlessly.

Holy shit was right.

Once they'd managed to clean up and were back under the covers, Tris curled up against his side and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He smiled, leaning back slightly so that he could look down at her - neither of them had bothered to get dressed, after the intimacy they'd experienced, it just seemed like a waste of time. She was absentmindedly tracing a patch of scars on his torso. "Thank you," Her words surprised him, making him shift so that he could fully look at her, all smiles - the bliss was still there, filling him to the point of overflowing, and he was enjoying every second of it.

"I didn't mean to coerce you into that, you know. I was just aiming to..to make you feel good, make you see it wasn't all as scary as you were thinking." Her smile melted his heart in an instant.

"I..think that's the best way for it to have happened - and..I enjoyed it, so there's nothing to apologize for," He loved watching the color rise to her cheeks when she got embarrassed - it was something he couldn't help but adore seeing time and time again. The words in his mind suddenly began to spill out of him like a dam that had been breached - his hands were shaking and he waited to see her turn on him for his honesty, for bearing his soul only for her not to like what she heard.

"Tris I..I don't think..I mean, I can't go back to being..anything but this. I want you all the time-" When she slapped his chest playfully and raised her brows in silent accusation, he groaned, realizing what that must have sounded like, "Fuck I mean - not, not like that. I mean-well, okay a _little_ like that but also..I really..really care about you. Obviously. I've never been this nice to anyone, not on purpose _or_ on accident, but..being with you makes it easier to be the person I want to be. So..will you? Be with me, I mean..and help me? I can tell you right now, I'm going to be an asshole and I'm gonna mess up - probably a lot. I'll be insensitive and a jerk, but I'll also try to do better,"

She looked like she was contemplating his words for a long time before a smile broke out on her face and she was unable to keep up the charade, "You sell yourself pretty short there, Hayes," She hummed with a fondness that made him want to choke up, "I think I can handle that - I can promise that I'll be difficult, and hard headed, I'll disagree with you and we'll fight, but I want to be strong again, and in the past few days I've spent with you, I've been more myself than I have since..well, since before I got shot,"

"God knows I never would have stepped foot in that diner before you came back into my life. You remind me of who I am - under the disability and the recovery - you make me feel Dauntless again." Tris didn't flinch as she said the words, like he expected her to, and it made it easier for his next words to ooze out of him. He was terrified of admitting it - he had been for a long time, but the words were there and he couldn't do anything about that.

"There's more. I..I..might be in love with you - I think I have been for a long time.."

The world didn't end. She didn't attack him or tell him to leave or call him a liar. The words he'd wanted to say since the day he'd saved her life were finally out of his mouth and no longer weighing down his heart - and she smiled at him. She fucking _beamed_ \- and kissed his lips with a tenderness he'd never known.

"I think I knew that. It might be why I went looking for you in the first place and.." She hesitated, her fingers finding his until they were laced together and she was blushing prettily again, peering up at him from beneath her lashes.

"I can't say I _love_ you, not quite yet, but..I think I'm well on my way.."

No words ever sounded sweeter than that. He breathed her in and smiled until his face hurt - until she kissed him and held his face in her hands, looking at him fondly.

"Hey Peter..?" She asked, just above a whisper, making him open his eyes and stare into hers.

"Hm?"

"I'm glad you didn't take that serum,"

"Me, too, Tris..I'm so fucking thankful for that."

There were some days where he felt that, maybe, just maybe he was capable of change. Days where _she_ made him feel like he was capable of it. Sure, he had a lot of work to do, and he was far from _good_ but maybe that was okay. Maybe admitting he had a problem was the first step towards a different life - a better one, where he didn't strangle innocent fathers and threaten anyone in a higher position than him. Maybe there was a world where he could love her and she could improve him - where they worked together through fear and ugliness and the scars their lives had imprinted on their flesh.

Maybe they wouldn't be perfect or fixed, but it was something - and he could live with _something_ so long as he didn't have to live with it alone.

* * *

I loved writing this, seriously. It had started out as a one shot idea that wasn't supposed to surpass a chapter or two, but turned into all of this extra feeling and I absolutely love it. I'm so grateful for all the sweet reviews and attention I've been getting on this story. I'll be putting my focus entirely into the Mutually Assured Destruction series now, but I might eventually touch base here again in the future~ Hope you enjoyed it!


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